THE FIRST CASE
(A
Story)
Rendered
from Telugu By R. Ramakrishnayya, M.A.
THE
agents’ meeting came to a close and they were all dispersing with contentment
in their looks. But Iswar Rao was an unhappy exception, for he received not
even a pie as commission. He was leaving the hall with empty hands, and a
dejected countenance. Would the goddess presiding over insurance ever smile
upon him? Just as he stepped out of the hall, a servant of the company informed
him that the General Manager was calling him. Iswar Rao dragged himself to the
Manager’s table, and sank Wearily into a chair in front of him.
“Mr.
Rao,” said the Manager in a compassionate tone, “it is nearly a year since you
took up the agency, but you have not been able to rope in one person yet. What
is the matter?”
“I
am straining every nerve, sir, but fortune does not favour me. I am unlucky,”
replied Iswar Rao pleadingly.
“Believe
me, Mr. Rao, luck and ill-luck do not find a place in the dictionary of
insurance. Hard work, young man, hard work is the key-word to success. You must
intensify your efforts” said the Manager.
“Then,
please, what shall I do?” asked Rao imploringly.
“Every
minute, nay, every second, you must concentrate on insurance”, the Manager
said.
“I
am reading lots of books on insurance, sir,” replied Iswar Rao.
“My
good God!” exclaimed the Manager. “Stop reading those infernal books for
insurance sake. Straightway begin the study of men, and understand their
psychology. Your bookish knowledge will not stand you in good stead. You are a
graduate, and I need not tell you much.”
Iswar
Rao nodded his distressed head in reply.
The
Manager, with the air of a professor of practical insurance, continued to
initiate the neophyte into the deeper mysteries of insurance. “Man, generally,
is interested in the present, and is not prudent enough to lay by something
against the rainy day. He is so self- centred that he cares a hang for the
future as well as that of his dependants. Do you understand?”
“Yes,
please” said the agent.
“Remember,
it is the sacred mission of the insurance agent in this world”, said the
Manager, glad that his pupil had at last comprehended the
trade-secret.
Iswar
Rao seemed to be a young man of promise. The Manager was bent upon giving all
possible encouragement to him: he ought to stick to the business and prosper.
So
he proceeded, “Mr. Rao, you must not despair. Work with a will and your efforts
will be crowned with success sooner or later. From sunrise to sunset you must
be thinking about insurance. Suppose you are travelling in a train. You have
much time on hand. You can talk alluringly about the thousand and one benefits
of insurance (to your fellow-passengers) and of the innumerable sufferings of
the wives and children of those who died without insuring their lives. Your
words will find fertile soil in the minds of at least a few persons and
bear fruit. The secret
of it all is persistence.”
The
Manager did not like to send away Iswar Rao with empty hands. He sympathized
with his lot and gave him an advance of fifty rupees and his blessing into the
bargain.
Iswar
Rao felt pleased with the monetary encouragement. He felt that his erstwhile
failures were only stepping stones to success and that self-confidence was
returning. When others succeeded why shouldn’t he? He vowed that until he made
at least one person insure his life he would not touch food. He must succeed
this time at any cost. At Bezwada to begin with, he could fish one or two men
who were badly in need of the protective care of insurance. Grim determination
was depicted in every feature of his countenance.
The
agent strode to the railway station, booked his ticket, and seated himself in a
compartment which was almost empty. The Manager’s words were ringing in his
ears. He should not let slip even a moment, and could start hunting even in a
railway carriage.
Right
opposite to him was seated a young man of about twenty. He had a woe-begone
countenance, and was looking vacantly at others. From his dress and manner he
seemed to be a petty clerk in some office. His forlorn appearance inspired
Iswar Rao with new courage, and he determined to lose no time in casting his
net, for something in him told him that the youth was in dire need of an
insurance policy.
The
idea was splendid, but this was his first case. The first blow was half the
battle. He must succeed in his first attempt. He had a natural turn for
business, and it was this consideration that weighed with him in the choice of
his profession.
Scarcely
had he noticed this youth when his latent abilities cried for expression. In
the line of insurance it was only the first case that was difficult. If the
first hurdle was crossed the rest was an easy walk-over.
Iswar
Rao immediately rose from his seat, and sat beside the young man. He broke the
ice of conversation, and by clever question; elicited all information about his
position in life; this initial success ought to bring credit even to a veteran
insurance agent. The young mar was a poor elementary school teacher, drudging
through life. His family was small, and for the present he was able to manage
anyhow. But he would be at sea (according to the calculation of the agent) in a
few years, for with the passage of time his family was bound to increase.
As
long as there was the vital breath in his body, he might be able to support his
family, but if by an insidious stroke of blind fate he were to die, who would
look after his unfortunate wife and the little ones? This line of argument
seemed to be the most potent; it would bend the will of even those who were so
obstinately self-controlled as to resist the humanitarian appeals of life
insurance.
But
the teacher did not show any signs of intelligence in his countenance. He
seemed to be suffering from a deep melancholy. He answered his questions with
uninterested absent-mindedness and vague looks. Perhaps the horrid picture of
his wife and children begging from door to door induced this fit of mental
depression on him. It was his sacred duty, as a humble servant of life
insurance, to lift people like this young man from the slough of despondency.
By drying the tears of this young man and bringing joy into his home, he would
not only serve the interests of his company, but also add to his merit in this
life.
With
terrible determination the agent started his humanitarian mission, and dragged
the young man into conversation. He drove home the cruel truth–the
transitoriness of the flimsy bubble called human life which might burst any
moment without notice.
“Please,
ponder over this well,” Iswar Rao spoke with all the eloquence at his command,
“all men are mortal. Now we are joyfully conversing; but we cannot be sure of
the next moment.”
Iswar
Rao’s eloquence seemed to have been lost upon the listener. There was no visible
change of expression on his face, and he sat up as if he turned a deaf ear to
the agent’s words. He neither endorsed his view nor combated it.
“Look
here, mister,” Iswar Rao continued with redoubled fervour, “this train is now
rushing on the bridge. It is not impossible that the bridge might collapse, and
the poor passengers buried fathoms deep in the bed of the river. Such an
unforeseen calamity has happened times out of number. What do you say?”
The
teacher who had been listening to his words with diverted looks, turned towards
the agent, and seemed to show some eagerness to understand the mysteries of the
philosophy of life as expounded by the agent. Encouraged by this responsive
gesture of the teacher, the agent added, “Death is always near. It dogs men at
every step and assumes a thousand unrecognisable shapes. Once a bullock-cart
over-turned, and killed an innocent fellow who was passing along.”
The
teacher was all astonishment when he heard about the monstrosity of Death, and
turned pale. The agent’s harangue seemed to have produced the desired effect.
He was already halfway on the road leading to success. The teacher would surely
be lured into his net. His face was the index of his success. Without
slackening in his efforts he continued his sermon on the uncertainty of human
life, carefully watching the changes of expression on the face of his listener.
Then
the agent said, “There are people who fell down while cycling and lost their
lives on the spot.”
Then
the teacher, to the utter satisfaction of the agent, pulled a wry face. His
speech had overwhelmed him. The agent came out successful in the preliminary
part of his canvassing which was the most trying and delicate kind of work, and
it only remained now to impress upon him the necessity of buying a policy to
safeguard the future of his ‘better-half’ and children. As his prey was almost
in his grip, he did not want to waste any more time on ‘philosophy, but thought
of applying the naked grim truth of his doctrine directly and .finish him. With
an air of assumed solemnity he pleaded, “Dear teacher, pay heed to my words.
Please, don’t take them amiss. You have no property to fall back upon in times
of need. You are leading a precarious existence in a remote village on a mere
pittance, and you have no other source of income. Imagine for a moment in what
a miserable plight your wife and children will be in the event of death getting
the better of you and felling you with a cruel stroke. Ponder over this well.
They, poor victims of hunger and want, will be compelled to lead a dog’s life.”
Iswar Rao paused awhile darting stern looks at the poor teacher. The
melodramatic effect of his words sent a thrill along his own spinal cord. Even
he shuddered to think of the fate of his own wife. With a feeling of triumph
surging in his breast he scrutinised the teacher’s face.
The
teacher nodded assent to the words of the agent and seemed ready to confess to
a sense of guilt on his part for the utter ruin he was bringing upon his family
by mere lack of imagination. Even while nodding his head sheepishly, he lost
control over his feelings, so long pent-up, and to the utter confusion of the
agent, he burst out sobbing. Tears sprang to his eyes, and rolled down his
cheeks pursuing one another in a stream.
The
effect was as unexpected as it was shocking to the agent. He felt that he had
overshot the mark. Never for a moment did he think that a teacher could be so
crack-brained as to be upset by a well-known truth of life. Even before he
expounded his theme, the teacher was behaving like a mere child. What he wanted
merely was to get him to agree to buy a policy for a paltry sum of Rs. 5000,
and the premium of Rs. 2 per month would after all fall very gently on him.
What had he done to send him into fits of uncontrollable sobbing?
This
heart-rending scene attracted the attention of their fellow passengers. They
suddenly stopped their group conversations, and turned their
faces towards the teacher in distress, with looks of surprised interrogation.
An
elderly gentleman felt it his duty as a fellow-passenger to intervene and stop
this bullying. “Why do you ill-treat him like that? What is
the matter?” asked he of the agent with a consequential air. What could poor
Iswar Rao reply? He turned pale in his turn, and hung his head in shame. He
felt that he was in an intriguing situation. He himself felt like weeping. Both
of them sat tongue-tied. Not only they but also the rest of the passengers sat
motionless in stupeied amazement.
The
hang-dog face and bewildered looks of the agent made all the people think that
he was behind the whole mischief. The thought that the consensus of opinion
held him responsible for the misery of the young man, made him look upon
himself with contempt.
After
a few minutes the teacher recovered from his sobbing. An old woman sitting near
him took this opportunity to console him and enquire into the cause of his
trouble. With motherly tenderness she said, “My dear son, you seem to be quite
innocent; my heart is cut in twain as I see your misery. Why do you weep? What
is the matter?” She paused and wiped a tear or two from her eyes with the end
of her sari.
The
young man could find no words to reply. Tears welled up in his eyes. With great
effort he uttered feebly, “My wife will die”, and he could not continue.
Flinging his arms round her neck with boyish indecorum and resting his head on
her shoulders he burst into sobs again.
The
old Woman too could not control her sorrow. Gathering the sorrowful figure of
her new-found grandson in her arms with extreme tenderness and passing the
fingers of her right hand gently over his cropped hair, she said in a soothing
voice, “My son, my darling, no fear for your wife. By God’s grace she will be
well. Is she dangerously ill?” With these words she burst into sympathetic
sobs. When she spoke so as to console him, he stopped weeping. But suddenly he
would remember something and weep again. Seeing her grandson weep, the grandma
wept. This went on for sometime.
Iswar
Rao’s heart went pit-a-pat. The world began to swim, and fantastic shapes
danced before his blurred eyes. The whole world seemed to have hatched a nasty
plot to bring him and insurance into discredit, or he might have been in the
grip of a magic spell. He was a condition in which his senses seemed to fail in
their functions.
As
a matter of fact, nobody in the compartment knew the real cause of the
teacher’s sorrow. Those who occupied the first bench thought that his wife
might be seriously ill and those on the third bench believed that she was already
dead.
Some
others were enraged at the tactless behaviour of Iswar Rao. He could as well
have broken the sad news after he had got down the train.
Iswar
Rao composed himself somewhat, and made an honest attempt to guess what might
be the cause of his trouble. Perhaps, his wife might have been suffering from
an illness of a serious nature. He thought this the clue to his
absentmindedness and mental depression. His own poignant words that the
teacher’s wife and children might die of starvation must have hurt him. He was
so weak-minded that he could not even bear the suggestion of a calamity. He
came to this conclusion, using his knowledge of psychology.
By
this time the teacher seemed to have regained composure; but the shadow of
depression still hung over his face. Slightly encouraged by this change in his
looks the old lady addressed him, “Be a man, my dear son, what is the use of
weeping?” But he looked as vacantly as ever.
Somebody
on the last bench stood up, and with a firmness of voice which seemed to have
been born of intimate knowledge, declared to the puzzled people that they were
only brothers-in-law. Nobody doubted the truth of this statement. How he could
divine this was a wonder to all!
The
old lady, eager to ascertain the truth, asked the teacher, “Dear son, whose
sister is given to whom?”
Iswar
Rao was non-plussed. The passengers were trying to establish a relationship
between himself and the teacher. A brainless, spineless fellow to be the
husband of his own sister–the very thought was loathsome. How rascally those
passengers were! Iswar Rao who had lost all initiative by this time kept mum.
The youth nodded his head to the old woman’s question, “Is his sister your
wife?” Now it was beyond a shadow of doubt that they were brothers-in-law. The
mystery was cleared.
A
knowledge of this relationship brought instant relief to all except Iswar Rao
who never imagined that insurance agents could be forced into such strange
relationships with their clients.
The
agent sat lost in thought. The inquisitiveness of the old lady was not
satisfied. She inquired of the teacher if he had any children. At this question
he raised a finger of his hand. “So you have one child to look after even at
such a tender age,” said she weeping and stroking his head. Whether he meant
that he was alone without either a wife or children nobody knew. But who would
care to understand him properly? The old lady who was the only person that took
interest in his affairs and made an honest attempt to interpret his words and gestures,
at once jumped to the conclusion that he had a child. When she raised the point
of bringing up the child, he began to cry more loudly than ever.
Then
the grandmother consoled her grandson saying, “Please, stop for the child’s
sake at least. Be a man, be a man, my dear son.”
“Even
that only child won’t survive,” he cried. This time he entwined his hands round
the neck of the agent, and using his chest as a support for his head began to
weep again.
Iswar
Rao could not think of a way by which he would be able to get rid of the
nuisance of a supposed brother-in-law who was hanging round his neck like a
mill-stone. Though the action of the teacher was quite unendurable to Iswar
Rao, no other passenger was struck with the unseemliness of his behaviour. When
a person was overwhelmed with sorrow, there was nothing strange in his
embracing his brother-in-law and weeping. Iswar Rao felt afraid that they would
consider him as a stone-hearted cynic. He was prepared to go to the extent of
owning the unknown teacher as his sister’s husband for the time being, but it
did not strike his dazed mind that by the intrigue of circumstances he would be
compelled to weep in unison with the teacher. Had he known that insurance
business would thrust him into such preposterous situations, he would have
safely avoided it, and chosen another line. There were a thousand other ways of
earning one’s living in the broad world.
He
could not help weeping lest he should be put down as an inhuman wretch. In
response to the teacher’s sobbing, the agent took him in his arms and wept with
all his heart.
Now
the burden upon the shoulders of the people in the carriage to bring solace to
the two broken hearts became twice heavier than before; So in one voice they
tried to pacify the weeping pair saying, “Dear ones! What is past is past.
There is no use crying over spilt milk. You must put an end to your weeping,
otherwise it will tell upon your health.”
The
old woman who had hitherto showed some partiality to the teacher, now bestowed
her sympathetic attentions on the agent also. She took his confounded head into
her hands and said, “Mad chap, if you also lose heart, who would console your
brother-in-law? His only child is ill. Perhaps this is the first blow in his
life. O, how inevitable is fate! You must pick up courage, and put heart into
him.”
Her
words had the desired effect on the agent, but the teacher went on weeping
intermittently. The agent did not know how to extricate himself from this
wretched situation. He thought of throwing himself overboard, and running away.
He might sustain great injuries. While attempting to do so, they might all drag
him back and chide him for leaving his brother-in-law to his fate in the hour
of his difficulty. It was indiscreet to swim against the current of public
opinion. Though the passengers in the carriage were but a microscopic minority
of the people in the world, they were the world before which Iswar Rao was
forced to acquit himself. So he determined not to migrate to another carriage.
The
train was passing station after station, while the two youths went on weeping.
Their faces became reddish brown and swollen.
The
train stopped at a station. It was just next to Bezwada. Immediately after the
train had stopped an elderly person came running to the window by which the
teacher was sitting, and peeping through it shouted, “Here he is, run up.”
Instantly another old gentleman came up to the carriage, gasping. Both of them
got in and sat beside the teacher. One of them said with disgust, “You silly ass!
We have been searching and searching for you, getting down at each and every
station.” The other asked him, “You muff, when did you get into this
compartment? What made you leave us so abruptly?”
This
double volley of questions set him a-weeping again. The old lady asked the
older of the two, if the teacher was related to them. He replied
that he was his son. The other old gentleman was the teacher’s uncle.
Feeling
great relief as if a heavy bmden had been removed from her shoulders she said
reprovingly, “Brothers, for a long time he has been sobbing hysterically in
spite of my attempts to console him. Why have you left the poor boy alone?”
The
old gentleman asked him in a gruff voice, “You vagabond, why do you weep?
The
teacher remained silent. Pitying his condition she said, “Don’t be cross with
him, please. After all he is still young. His heart has not yet been
sufficiently hardened by misfortune. Anybody would have done
the same under the same circumstances. It is but human to weep over the loss of
his wife and daughter.
The
old gentleman felt bewildered. With puzzled looks he said, “He has no daughter.
Who told you he has one?”
“Is
it so? He has no daughter. Then he must have been weeping for the death of his
wife.”
“Shut
up,” roared his maternal uncle. It is a shame that even a person of your age
should be indulging in such inauspicious words. He is not yet married and how
could he have a daughter? You have not been able to mend your evil nature even
at this advanced age! It is too late to begin now.”
She
felt that she did not deserve these reproaches from the churlish maternal uncle
of the youth. Was this the reward of all her kindness and sympathy bestowed on
him?
The
old gentleman’s words were a puzzle to all.
Everybody
felt that the carriage must have been bewitched. Everybody felt that it was
Iswar Rao’s duty to give a convincing solution to the riddle. All eyes were
turned towards him for a clue.
Iswar
Rao was in a dilemma. He had never been in such a predicament as this. He felt
that the floor of the carriage was sinking under his feet. How did the teacher
happen to be his sister’s husband? Why did he also weep? These two questions
stared at him.
If
he told them the truth he would become the laughing stock of the whole world;
his name would be printed in bold headlines in the newspapers and some
malicious author would take his experiences into account and exaggerating them
weave them into a fictitious tale. His name would lie in the mouth of all. He
would be held up as a warning to all insurance agents in future. This would
spread like wild fire and might finally reflect on the company he represented.
There would be much ado about nothing.
His
only thought was how to get out of the awkward situation without any blot on
his honour. There seemed to be no way out. In a moment all the
people would besiege him and subject him to cross examination.
When
he was engrossed in thought the grand old lady asked the father of the teacher,
“Please, sir, when he has neither wife nor daughter why did he weep so bitterly
over their loss?”
The
old gentleman replied as if he was quite put out and disgusted with his son. He
said, “Madam, no one need bother about his weeping. It is his fate.” This reply
did not go a long way in solving the puzzle. Then his uncle commented on the
trite explanation of his father. He said, “Poor fellow! For the last one month
he has been suffering from a peculiar mental aberration. His mind has been
slightly touched. He sits sullen and morose for hours together without talking
to anybody. At the slightest suggestion of any unpleasant thing or sometimes
without any apparent reason he bursts into hysterical sobs. This is his
trouble. We are taking him to the mental hospital at Vizag for treatment.
Stung
to the quick, perhaps, by the uncharitable and uncomplimentary words of his
uncle (which in his view were a gross misrepresentation of facts) the teacher
who had been strangely silent all the while blurted out at least, “What a mad
world is this! None but the mad think I’m mad. This astrologer, even at the
first examination of my physiognomy, said that soon after my marriage my wife
would die and even if I were to beget a child it would also follow her. Now
would my uncle give his daughter in marriage to me?”
All
the passengers who listened to the teacher with rapt attention were filled with
contempt for Iswar Rao. “Father, he did not stop there with his predictions. He
told me that I would also die in a train disaster. Even if I were to survive it
I would surely be run over by a car or at least a bullock-cart,” added the
teacher weeping again. Iswar Rao went mad temporarily. This whole world with
all its people seemed to whirl round him like a merry-go-round. “Surely this is
a mad world I am living in. Pure truth is unendurable and horrible. People go
mad even at the first sight of it,” he thought with infinite self-pity.
Then
the old woman took him by the hand and said, “You knave! What devil made you
utter such atrocious predictions to the youth?”
“You
wept over the loss of your sister? What about that?” asked another gentleman
looking at Iswar Rao.
All
the people were looking daggers at Iswar Rao. He felt that his body was being
cut into pieces. The situation was extremely intolerable.
The
train had arrived at Bezwada. Even before the train had stopped, Iswar Rao
abruptly opened the door of the carriage, landed on the platform and drowned
himself in the sea of people.
The
old woman and the rest of the people, after an exchange of thoughts, came to
the unanimous conclusion that Iswar Rao also was mad.