The Circle
It is difficult to savour an open insult. I am a simpleton by nature; prefer to remain miles away from the bedlam of public affairs. In winter, nobody had the gumption even to notice this but when summer arrived, there would be a veritable furore. As a part annual gesture, the local board would build a rickety bamboo bridge over the creek and as winter approached it was for the villagers to make use of the bridge materials as fire wood. It had been so ever since the local board was dismantled. Along with the defunct body, people forgot all about the bridge. But with the onset of the awful monsoon, people would be abuzz with concern for the broken bridge.
Gajen Barua was elected last time as MLA from our constituency. I had actually slogged for his campaign. My selfless drudgery brought me a little closer to him. Later I met him umpteen times pleading his favour for the bridge. He would always assure me of an appropriate action at an appropriate time. He did nothing worth a name; so we decided to go to Guwahati to meet him personally.
All three of us were kicking our heels at the verandah almost for eternity but there was no trace of him. To come all the way for all three of us for this purpose was rather expensive. But then it was, quite often than not, very awkward to face people at big places. We knew they would not greet us with inexplicable violence, yet it was not as easy to come all alone as it rationally seemed. It was a costly trip, but we had no alternative. We arrived last evening, put up in a hotel and next morning, right at seven O’clock, we were at Barua’s quarter, and after that it was almost nine O’clock now.
At about nine O’ Clock the driver brought out the car to place it in front of the verandah. I decided to stand by the car while Jagannath and Mahesh would squat on the lawn inside the compound to have a few happy drags on their bidis.
Barua finally came out of his room and was hurriedly proceeding towards the car that was waiting for him:
‘Driver, be quick, it’s late.’
So this man was to leave soon. As I was thinking of running to him, to make the matter worse, the other two were just out of sight. Invariably crisis has a peculiar sense of timing. Nonetheless, I rushed towards Barua and greeted him with a namaskar as warmly as I could.
He scowled at me and asked with irritation, ‘So what’s the matter? Be quick, I am in hurry.’
Had he forgotten me, one of the most reliable soldiers of his election campaign?
‘We have come all the way from Teleka. We met you once, if you remember…’
‘Oh yes, I’ve already talked with the minister about the grant to your school. It’ll come in time. There is no point keep coming again and again for the same old thing.’
I was at my wit’s end; there was no high school in our miserable village. What grant was he talking about? He must have jumbled it all up. Surely, he even failed to recognize us. By now Jagannath and Madhav came kowtowing.
Jagannath cracked in, ‘No, Sir, actually you see, the road from our village to Sundarpur...’
Mr. Barua took the cue before Jagannath could finish his sentence:
‘Oh yes, I’ve told the PWD Minister about this, there will be a survey very soon. Then the financial sanction will follow. How can it happen over night? You people are a bother, really. You can not expect to have the road all done at the snapping of your fingers, can you? Things do take their own time, my dear.’
Mahesh chipped in edgily, ‘No, Sir, er...Its about a road, no, I mean a bridge, Er…when it rains, you know, all the villagers…’
This time Barua was furious, how could he tolerate interruption in every word. How long could he keep his cool? He imploded, ‘I am doing all that is necessary for the bridge. What else you want me to do? Do you want me to go there and fix it myself? This is simply outrageous. Now it’s enough. I have to go. I’ve got a meeting to attend and I am already late.’
‘HEY YOU...’
I was almost knocked down by a speeding vehicle. I glanced at the man only to discover that he was Paresh.
‘What the hell are you doing here in the city? Why don’t you stay put in your goddamn village? You’d be knocked down by some vehicle here; this is too big a place for you to manage. Are you hurt, anyway?’
I was actually hit by the vehicle, but I said, instead, ‘Not at all.’ Paresh virtually dragged me to a restaurant.
PARESH BHUYAN WAS a very dynamic man. In those days there was no school in our village so we had to go to a school in Sundarpur, some ten miles away from my home in the village. I used to live in a hostel there and Paresh was a native of Sundarpur. We were together in school. He was quite mature for his age; upright and confident. While in class nine or eight (I don’t remember exactly) we, with Paresh, were desperately looking for flowers for Saraswati puja at our school. We spotted flowers happily blooming in the garden of the Additional Deputy Commissioner. He lived in style. He would live a life of luxurious solitude in the outskirt of the town, far away from the uncanny chaos of socializing and all that.
‘Let’s go and pluck some from here’, Paresh proposed.
‘Are you crazy?’ we reacted nervously.
‘Crazy? What for? We are not going to steal them any way. We are going to request him to let us pick some flowers from the garden. Let's go and see whether he allows us or not. He is not going to crunch into us for sure.’
We stayed outside the gate. Paresh alone went in and came out with a smile and a basketful of flowers.
We together got admitted in college after our matriculation. He could not pass out that year. He had cleared his examinations after almost a couple of years. I got a job at the school at Sundarpur after completing my B.A. As for him, he would move around with the political leaders. Running errand for their odds and ends. His favourite pass-time turned out to be making us educated on the intricacies of politics whenever he had an opportunity.
‘Stop it, we had had enough’, we would try to dissuade him from making us the audience to his lectures.
His condition seemed to have improved quite a lot later, but we had no clue as to what he exactly did for his earning. He even owned a car now to travel between Guwahari and Shillong.
Paresh asked me, ‘What brings you here?’
I disclosed our story. After listening to me Paresh replied, ‘I am not sure whether you can meet Barua today. He is supposed to leave for Shillong today with his party.’
‘Party? What Party?’
‘Since there were some irregularities, they had cancelled Sankar Lal’s husking mill licence. He’s the one who is supposed to take him to Shilong. They must be on their way by now.’
I told Paresh about the incident of the morning. He laughed loudly to hear my story.
‘Oh whither your common sense. For him where there’s muck there’s brass. Why should he be so concerned your damn bridge and let his share go down the drain? He must take care of the kind of jobs that would fetch him hard cash?’
‘You said Party or something? If he does the work for him, does it mean he makes some profit?’
‘Haven’t you yet seen his huge bungalow here? How much do you think he earns as an MLA? Does he have a Zamindari at Sundarpur or what? You know it well, don’t you?”
Paresh fumbled a bit as he tried to laugh while sipping on his tea.
‘What’s wrong?’ I was eager to know.
‘This Barua is a clever man, you know. Once I happened to be at the residence of a minister. By the way, I have free access to their places; you need to be in touch, you see. That’s the way you earn a reputation for yourself, it is necessary, you know. Any way, as I was telling- Mr. Barua also happened to be there with an old man. That poor old fellow was telling Mr. Barua, “Sir, please see the case of my son. He has a very good career all through. Otherwise I would never have made any request to you. He is a first class first in M.Sc. in Physics. He had applied last time round as well, but he could not make it. He is too keen to study aboard.” What was Barua’s response, you know? “Okay, I shall tell him about your son. What name you said? All right, that’s it.” With that we both went in. Barua was a President of some cultural organization or something. He discussed something on some financial grants and all that with the minister followed by some stray talks. Finally we came out without even mentioning a thing about the boy. We saw the old man standing anxiously at the gate. And don’t you believe it, this Barua without the slightest sign of hesitation told the poor fellow, “Yes, I spoke highly about your son, about his qualifications and all that. I told him he deserved the scholarship. The minister assured me to look into the matter. I think he is through this time.” The old man showered his gratitude in profusion with his eyes wet. See what a devious character he is. It was immaterial for him whether that young man got the scholarship or not. But if the boy got, it woul go to his credit. Ha ha ha.’
While having those stray talks I asked him about his present occupation. He informed, ‘This time I am trying to conjure up something substantial. I am going to set up a flour mill. I’ve already got the licence.’
I did not want to ask it, but it just slipped out of my tongue, ‘They say you need a lot of money for this sort of things, how are you going to arrange that?’
‘Oh, I have a Marwari businessman as a partner. The capital for the investment is entirely his headache.’
All three of us came back to our village. On our way back we pledged not to work for Barua during the next election, not even cast our votes for him.
AGAIN CAME THE ELECTIONS. Let it be, how am I supposed to bother about this? Villagers were gradually being gripped by the election fever. As for myself I was determined to remain miles away from the spectacle this time. Last time we slogged our guts out for Gajen Barua, this time nothing doing, I would not be anywhere near the farce. I would not go out for any of them. They were all birds of a feather. Once in Lanka, they all became Ravanas. At least I would not do a thing for Gajen Barua. Why should one sweat it out for a thankless job?
The school got over. The next day was also a holiday. It was winter so I made for my home on the bicycle at about two in the afternoon. I normally go to my home at the village on holidays. I had bought some sweets for the kids. The youngest one would invariably demand sweets on my arrival. It was not always possible to entertain him, but this time I had his favourite stuff.
At around three in the afternoon one car stopped by the gate in front of my house. I came out. Gajen Barua and two other leaders of Sundarpar alighted from the vehicle. I recalled how just a few days back Gajen Barua did not even ask me to sit at his place when I had gone to meet him; but then I could not forget my own manners. If dog bites, can we bite back?
‘Please, come in, how are you?’
Barua said with exasperation, ‘My God, I am so listless after such a hectic tour. Choudhury, please treat us to refreshing cups of tea. But mind you, only tea and nothing else.’
Still how could I offer just plain tea to the guests? Their mother was yet to give the sweets to the kids; I asked her to offer the sweets to our guests along with tea.
‘Never mind sweethearts you all will have your share some other day. There, there don’t you cry. Okay, okay give some to them now. There you are. Don’t come inside the room. When elders eat one should not stand right in front ogling at them, okay?’
Barua said rather with conviction, ‘Choudhury, you know it well, you are the only source of strength for me in your area.’
‘Oh, come on, I am just a...’
‘Please, don’t say like this. I am not crazy to believe that I even stand a chance without your help. If you want to avoid me, I’d rather withdraw my candidature. It is meaningless to be in the fray in that case.’
Mr. Barua, in fact, was not wrong. He was prudent enough to realize this. I was one of the most qualified and educated man in the area, besides, for my literary activities I was held in very high esteem by the youths of the locality, a kind of… you know, reverence of sort. Actually a lot of admiration… in fact they gave value to my words. I mean they were quite fond of me. Barua got it right. Clever man!
But I said, ‘Please spare me this time. Besides, I have my school to take care of…’
‘Don’t you worry about that, let that be my concern. And for your leaves and all that I am there to take care of.’
Oh bother. He would not budge a bit. As a matter of fact it was not actually possible for him to be without me in my area. Well, I would not call it a clout proper but then I have quite a bit of...you know.
MY HOUSE BECAME his virtual party office for this area. On his visit to this locality, Barua would invariably drop in here at my place. My outhouse was the biggest in the locality; hence they would prefer to have their gatherings there. It was big enough to hold even the party meetings. Some of the big leaders from Shillong and Guwahati also came and had their sojourn at here. Once, even a minister came here. He was not there for long, but I could hurriedly arrange tea and some snacks for him. He had also requested me quite fervently to help Mr. Barua win his election. My house became the center of all attention for everyone in the village. They would count on my opinion on the latest political developments, about the programme schedules of the big party leaders and all that. They would gather here in front of my house and would even submit their memorandum to me with various demands meant for the leaders. Good heavens!
Barua had happily left all the crucial responsibilities upon my shoulders. He would insist on my accompanying him on his visit to the nearby villages. I had to get completely involved with the whole process. It finally became a prestige issue. If Barua took a beating, it would be nothing less than a severe drubbing of my own. I was so openly involved with him. Soon I got hooked to it. Now there was no way I could back out. I was totally into it. Day out and day in, I whirled about the places asking for votes for him. Everything went topsy-turvy: my meals, my sleeps, my daily works, and my entire routine. The Election fever got the better of me.
Some cynics seemed to have circulated the rumour that I had siphoned off thousands of money during the campaign. By God, I did not even make a penny for my own. Yes, there had been squandering and quite a good deal of that. I myself had distributed so much money to so many of them.
My wife was in the family way. I warned her, ‘Be careful, no trouble during election.’
‘Enough’, with strange twist of face she turned her head to the other side. I could hardly afford to take note of those tantrums. The jeep was honking at the gate. Bhaben, Haricharan and all had already arrived.
The prospects at Sundarban seemed to have been not quite encouraging. It was evident; it had to be like this. The people in the town were a clever lot. Barua asked me to stay at Sundarpur on the day of the husting. To make sure of my presence, he had sent the vehicle for me at the unearthly hour of the morning.
As I was coming out, my wife said, ‘I wonder, if you could come little early today. I am not feeling well.’
Both my hands were inside the two sleeves of the shirt with its collars stuck on my head as the buttons were yet to ease out. I replied from below the shirt, ‘All right, all right.’
The day passed off in a flash. It was like a street fight, a kind of duel in every household. We were absolutely oblivious of even our food.
We could relax only in the evening. Gajen Barua was sure to win this time. The grueling labour of the day completely drained us. Despite the weary we were cheerful in anticipation of the prospective victory.
I SAID TO Barua out of enthusiasm, ‘Should I greet you in advance? Where is the need to wait for the counting? The only curiosity is about whether the rest of them loose their security deposit or not.’
For the whole day I remained absolutely oblivious of my wife, suddenly I remembered her. I must go. It should not take more than half an hour to reach my village by the jeep.
Barua said, ‘Choudhury, there is a problem. I am afraid I need the jeep. God knows where they have taken my other vehicle to. It’s a nuisance really. I must give thanks to you. We have done whatever we could, let see what the results have in store for us.’
Was Barua an expert in the philosophy of the Geeta too? He soon got occupied in discussion with some of the party leaders. He said to me, ‘So good bye, go safely.’ He hardly had any time even to look at me.
It was getting late, and getting cold. The game was over. The carnival came to end, with that all the excitements. I must go home; I must be near my wife. I became restless. What could be the time? It was already seven in the evening. How long should it take me on foot? Three hours? No if I walked fast I should reach in two and a half. I was getting tired. But there was no other way.
Having gone half the distance I pledged, ‘Never, never again. It was once and for all. Only fools tread the bumpy road for the second time. Next time I will not only keep myself away from Barua’s campaign, I’ll not even cast my vote for him.’
The featured story is a translation of Sheelabhadra from Assamese into English by DR. JYOTIRMOY PRODHANI, the Head and Associate Professor in the Dept. of English at North-Eastern Hill University, (Tura campus), Meghalaya, India. Dr. Prodhani edits an international research journal, PROTOCOL: Journal of Translation, Creative and Critical Writings. He has extensively translated literary works from Assamese and Rajbongshi into English. His areas of research are postmodern theatre, ethnic studies and folklore.
It is difficult to savour an open insult. I am a simpleton by nature; prefer to remain miles away from the bedlam of public affairs. In winter, nobody had the gumption even to notice this but when summer arrived, there would be a veritable furore. As a part annual gesture, the local board would build a rickety bamboo bridge over the creek and as winter approached it was for the villagers to make use of the bridge materials as fire wood. It had been so ever since the local board was dismantled. Along with the defunct body, people forgot all about the bridge. But with the onset of the awful monsoon, people would be abuzz with concern for the broken bridge.
Gajen Barua was elected last time as MLA from our constituency. I had actually slogged for his campaign. My selfless drudgery brought me a little closer to him. Later I met him umpteen times pleading his favour for the bridge. He would always assure me of an appropriate action at an appropriate time. He did nothing worth a name; so we decided to go to Guwahati to meet him personally.
All three of us were kicking our heels at the verandah almost for eternity but there was no trace of him. To come all the way for all three of us for this purpose was rather expensive. But then it was, quite often than not, very awkward to face people at big places. We knew they would not greet us with inexplicable violence, yet it was not as easy to come all alone as it rationally seemed. It was a costly trip, but we had no alternative. We arrived last evening, put up in a hotel and next morning, right at seven O’clock, we were at Barua’s quarter, and after that it was almost nine O’clock now.
At about nine O’ Clock the driver brought out the car to place it in front of the verandah. I decided to stand by the car while Jagannath and Mahesh would squat on the lawn inside the compound to have a few happy drags on their bidis.
Barua finally came out of his room and was hurriedly proceeding towards the car that was waiting for him:
‘Driver, be quick, it’s late.’
So this man was to leave soon. As I was thinking of running to him, to make the matter worse, the other two were just out of sight. Invariably crisis has a peculiar sense of timing. Nonetheless, I rushed towards Barua and greeted him with a namaskar as warmly as I could.
He scowled at me and asked with irritation, ‘So what’s the matter? Be quick, I am in hurry.’
Had he forgotten me, one of the most reliable soldiers of his election campaign?
‘We have come all the way from Teleka. We met you once, if you remember…’
‘Oh yes, I’ve already talked with the minister about the grant to your school. It’ll come in time. There is no point keep coming again and again for the same old thing.’
I was at my wit’s end; there was no high school in our miserable village. What grant was he talking about? He must have jumbled it all up. Surely, he even failed to recognize us. By now Jagannath and Madhav came kowtowing.
Jagannath cracked in, ‘No, Sir, actually you see, the road from our village to Sundarpur...’
Mr. Barua took the cue before Jagannath could finish his sentence:
‘Oh yes, I’ve told the PWD Minister about this, there will be a survey very soon. Then the financial sanction will follow. How can it happen over night? You people are a bother, really. You can not expect to have the road all done at the snapping of your fingers, can you? Things do take their own time, my dear.’
Mahesh chipped in edgily, ‘No, Sir, er...Its about a road, no, I mean a bridge, Er…when it rains, you know, all the villagers…’
This time Barua was furious, how could he tolerate interruption in every word. How long could he keep his cool? He imploded, ‘I am doing all that is necessary for the bridge. What else you want me to do? Do you want me to go there and fix it myself? This is simply outrageous. Now it’s enough. I have to go. I’ve got a meeting to attend and I am already late.’
‘HEY YOU...’
I was almost knocked down by a speeding vehicle. I glanced at the man only to discover that he was Paresh.
‘What the hell are you doing here in the city? Why don’t you stay put in your goddamn village? You’d be knocked down by some vehicle here; this is too big a place for you to manage. Are you hurt, anyway?’
I was actually hit by the vehicle, but I said, instead, ‘Not at all.’ Paresh virtually dragged me to a restaurant.
PARESH BHUYAN WAS a very dynamic man. In those days there was no school in our village so we had to go to a school in Sundarpur, some ten miles away from my home in the village. I used to live in a hostel there and Paresh was a native of Sundarpur. We were together in school. He was quite mature for his age; upright and confident. While in class nine or eight (I don’t remember exactly) we, with Paresh, were desperately looking for flowers for Saraswati puja at our school. We spotted flowers happily blooming in the garden of the Additional Deputy Commissioner. He lived in style. He would live a life of luxurious solitude in the outskirt of the town, far away from the uncanny chaos of socializing and all that.
‘Let’s go and pluck some from here’, Paresh proposed.
‘Are you crazy?’ we reacted nervously.
‘Crazy? What for? We are not going to steal them any way. We are going to request him to let us pick some flowers from the garden. Let's go and see whether he allows us or not. He is not going to crunch into us for sure.’
We stayed outside the gate. Paresh alone went in and came out with a smile and a basketful of flowers.
We together got admitted in college after our matriculation. He could not pass out that year. He had cleared his examinations after almost a couple of years. I got a job at the school at Sundarpur after completing my B.A. As for him, he would move around with the political leaders. Running errand for their odds and ends. His favourite pass-time turned out to be making us educated on the intricacies of politics whenever he had an opportunity.
‘Stop it, we had had enough’, we would try to dissuade him from making us the audience to his lectures.
His condition seemed to have improved quite a lot later, but we had no clue as to what he exactly did for his earning. He even owned a car now to travel between Guwahari and Shillong.
Paresh asked me, ‘What brings you here?’
I disclosed our story. After listening to me Paresh replied, ‘I am not sure whether you can meet Barua today. He is supposed to leave for Shillong today with his party.’
‘Party? What Party?’
‘Since there were some irregularities, they had cancelled Sankar Lal’s husking mill licence. He’s the one who is supposed to take him to Shilong. They must be on their way by now.’
I told Paresh about the incident of the morning. He laughed loudly to hear my story.
‘Oh whither your common sense. For him where there’s muck there’s brass. Why should he be so concerned your damn bridge and let his share go down the drain? He must take care of the kind of jobs that would fetch him hard cash?’
‘You said Party or something? If he does the work for him, does it mean he makes some profit?’
‘Haven’t you yet seen his huge bungalow here? How much do you think he earns as an MLA? Does he have a Zamindari at Sundarpur or what? You know it well, don’t you?”
Paresh fumbled a bit as he tried to laugh while sipping on his tea.
‘What’s wrong?’ I was eager to know.
‘This Barua is a clever man, you know. Once I happened to be at the residence of a minister. By the way, I have free access to their places; you need to be in touch, you see. That’s the way you earn a reputation for yourself, it is necessary, you know. Any way, as I was telling- Mr. Barua also happened to be there with an old man. That poor old fellow was telling Mr. Barua, “Sir, please see the case of my son. He has a very good career all through. Otherwise I would never have made any request to you. He is a first class first in M.Sc. in Physics. He had applied last time round as well, but he could not make it. He is too keen to study aboard.” What was Barua’s response, you know? “Okay, I shall tell him about your son. What name you said? All right, that’s it.” With that we both went in. Barua was a President of some cultural organization or something. He discussed something on some financial grants and all that with the minister followed by some stray talks. Finally we came out without even mentioning a thing about the boy. We saw the old man standing anxiously at the gate. And don’t you believe it, this Barua without the slightest sign of hesitation told the poor fellow, “Yes, I spoke highly about your son, about his qualifications and all that. I told him he deserved the scholarship. The minister assured me to look into the matter. I think he is through this time.” The old man showered his gratitude in profusion with his eyes wet. See what a devious character he is. It was immaterial for him whether that young man got the scholarship or not. But if the boy got, it woul go to his credit. Ha ha ha.’
While having those stray talks I asked him about his present occupation. He informed, ‘This time I am trying to conjure up something substantial. I am going to set up a flour mill. I’ve already got the licence.’
I did not want to ask it, but it just slipped out of my tongue, ‘They say you need a lot of money for this sort of things, how are you going to arrange that?’
‘Oh, I have a Marwari businessman as a partner. The capital for the investment is entirely his headache.’
All three of us came back to our village. On our way back we pledged not to work for Barua during the next election, not even cast our votes for him.
AGAIN CAME THE ELECTIONS. Let it be, how am I supposed to bother about this? Villagers were gradually being gripped by the election fever. As for myself I was determined to remain miles away from the spectacle this time. Last time we slogged our guts out for Gajen Barua, this time nothing doing, I would not be anywhere near the farce. I would not go out for any of them. They were all birds of a feather. Once in Lanka, they all became Ravanas. At least I would not do a thing for Gajen Barua. Why should one sweat it out for a thankless job?
The school got over. The next day was also a holiday. It was winter so I made for my home on the bicycle at about two in the afternoon. I normally go to my home at the village on holidays. I had bought some sweets for the kids. The youngest one would invariably demand sweets on my arrival. It was not always possible to entertain him, but this time I had his favourite stuff.
At around three in the afternoon one car stopped by the gate in front of my house. I came out. Gajen Barua and two other leaders of Sundarpar alighted from the vehicle. I recalled how just a few days back Gajen Barua did not even ask me to sit at his place when I had gone to meet him; but then I could not forget my own manners. If dog bites, can we bite back?
‘Please, come in, how are you?’
Barua said with exasperation, ‘My God, I am so listless after such a hectic tour. Choudhury, please treat us to refreshing cups of tea. But mind you, only tea and nothing else.’
Still how could I offer just plain tea to the guests? Their mother was yet to give the sweets to the kids; I asked her to offer the sweets to our guests along with tea.
‘Never mind sweethearts you all will have your share some other day. There, there don’t you cry. Okay, okay give some to them now. There you are. Don’t come inside the room. When elders eat one should not stand right in front ogling at them, okay?’
Barua said rather with conviction, ‘Choudhury, you know it well, you are the only source of strength for me in your area.’
‘Oh, come on, I am just a...’
‘Please, don’t say like this. I am not crazy to believe that I even stand a chance without your help. If you want to avoid me, I’d rather withdraw my candidature. It is meaningless to be in the fray in that case.’
Mr. Barua, in fact, was not wrong. He was prudent enough to realize this. I was one of the most qualified and educated man in the area, besides, for my literary activities I was held in very high esteem by the youths of the locality, a kind of… you know, reverence of sort. Actually a lot of admiration… in fact they gave value to my words. I mean they were quite fond of me. Barua got it right. Clever man!
But I said, ‘Please spare me this time. Besides, I have my school to take care of…’
‘Don’t you worry about that, let that be my concern. And for your leaves and all that I am there to take care of.’
Oh bother. He would not budge a bit. As a matter of fact it was not actually possible for him to be without me in my area. Well, I would not call it a clout proper but then I have quite a bit of...you know.
MY HOUSE BECAME his virtual party office for this area. On his visit to this locality, Barua would invariably drop in here at my place. My outhouse was the biggest in the locality; hence they would prefer to have their gatherings there. It was big enough to hold even the party meetings. Some of the big leaders from Shillong and Guwahati also came and had their sojourn at here. Once, even a minister came here. He was not there for long, but I could hurriedly arrange tea and some snacks for him. He had also requested me quite fervently to help Mr. Barua win his election. My house became the center of all attention for everyone in the village. They would count on my opinion on the latest political developments, about the programme schedules of the big party leaders and all that. They would gather here in front of my house and would even submit their memorandum to me with various demands meant for the leaders. Good heavens!
Barua had happily left all the crucial responsibilities upon my shoulders. He would insist on my accompanying him on his visit to the nearby villages. I had to get completely involved with the whole process. It finally became a prestige issue. If Barua took a beating, it would be nothing less than a severe drubbing of my own. I was so openly involved with him. Soon I got hooked to it. Now there was no way I could back out. I was totally into it. Day out and day in, I whirled about the places asking for votes for him. Everything went topsy-turvy: my meals, my sleeps, my daily works, and my entire routine. The Election fever got the better of me.
Some cynics seemed to have circulated the rumour that I had siphoned off thousands of money during the campaign. By God, I did not even make a penny for my own. Yes, there had been squandering and quite a good deal of that. I myself had distributed so much money to so many of them.
My wife was in the family way. I warned her, ‘Be careful, no trouble during election.’
‘Enough’, with strange twist of face she turned her head to the other side. I could hardly afford to take note of those tantrums. The jeep was honking at the gate. Bhaben, Haricharan and all had already arrived.
The prospects at Sundarban seemed to have been not quite encouraging. It was evident; it had to be like this. The people in the town were a clever lot. Barua asked me to stay at Sundarpur on the day of the husting. To make sure of my presence, he had sent the vehicle for me at the unearthly hour of the morning.
As I was coming out, my wife said, ‘I wonder, if you could come little early today. I am not feeling well.’
Both my hands were inside the two sleeves of the shirt with its collars stuck on my head as the buttons were yet to ease out. I replied from below the shirt, ‘All right, all right.’
The day passed off in a flash. It was like a street fight, a kind of duel in every household. We were absolutely oblivious of even our food.
We could relax only in the evening. Gajen Barua was sure to win this time. The grueling labour of the day completely drained us. Despite the weary we were cheerful in anticipation of the prospective victory.
I SAID TO Barua out of enthusiasm, ‘Should I greet you in advance? Where is the need to wait for the counting? The only curiosity is about whether the rest of them loose their security deposit or not.’
For the whole day I remained absolutely oblivious of my wife, suddenly I remembered her. I must go. It should not take more than half an hour to reach my village by the jeep.
Barua said, ‘Choudhury, there is a problem. I am afraid I need the jeep. God knows where they have taken my other vehicle to. It’s a nuisance really. I must give thanks to you. We have done whatever we could, let see what the results have in store for us.’
Was Barua an expert in the philosophy of the Geeta too? He soon got occupied in discussion with some of the party leaders. He said to me, ‘So good bye, go safely.’ He hardly had any time even to look at me.
It was getting late, and getting cold. The game was over. The carnival came to end, with that all the excitements. I must go home; I must be near my wife. I became restless. What could be the time? It was already seven in the evening. How long should it take me on foot? Three hours? No if I walked fast I should reach in two and a half. I was getting tired. But there was no other way.
Having gone half the distance I pledged, ‘Never, never again. It was once and for all. Only fools tread the bumpy road for the second time. Next time I will not only keep myself away from Barua’s campaign, I’ll not even cast my vote for him.’
The featured story is a translation of Sheelabhadra from Assamese into English by DR. JYOTIRMOY PRODHANI, the Head and Associate Professor in the Dept. of English at North-Eastern Hill University, (Tura campus), Meghalaya, India. Dr. Prodhani edits an international research journal, PROTOCOL: Journal of Translation, Creative and Critical Writings. He has extensively translated literary works from Assamese and Rajbongshi into English. His areas of research are postmodern theatre, ethnic studies and folklore.
