Jagdish Prasad Mandal (Original Maithili Short Story)
Rameshwar Prasad Mandal (English Translation)
Desolate
Evening had set in when Shyam Babu reached Gopal’s house. Gopal himself was not at home; he had gone to the market to buy medicine for his father. At the doorway, wrapped in a quilt and lying on a wooden cot, was Manmohan. Seeing him, Shyam Babu asked-
“Uncle, where is Gopal?”
At the sound of his voice, Manmohan sat up slowly and replied-
“Ah, Shyam my boy! Come, come, take a seat on the chair. You’ve come after a long while. Gopal has gone to the market, he should be back any moment now.”
Hearing this, Shyam Babu sat down on the chair. Inwardly he thought, since he had come here for an important matter, how could he leave without meeting Gopal? And the work he carried with him was something that had to be settled today itself.
He was still mulling over this when Gopal arrived, pedaling in on his bicycle. Spotting Shyam Babu seated there, Gopal said-
“Brother Shyam! Father’s health has taken a turn for the worse these past seven or eight days. I had to fetch medicines and show the report to the doctor, so I went to the market.”
He leaned his bicycle against the wall near the entrance, placed the bag of medicines on the cot where Manmohan had been lying, and then stepped quickly into the courtyard, calling out to his wife-
“Make some tea.”
Returning, he took a seat beside Shyam Babu on another chair, while Manmohan adjusted himself on the cot, resting against the wall.
Shyam Babu asked softly,
“Gopal, how is uncle doing?”
Gopal replied-
“Brother, it isn’t too good. The illness has left its mark.”
Shyam Babu said-
“Surely his age must have crossed eighty by now?”
At the mention of his age, Manmohan himself spoke up-
“My boy, I’ve already completed eighty-three years, and now the eighty-fourth is running its course.”
Just then, Aparajita, Gopal’s younger daughter, appeared at the doorway carrying three plates of refreshments. Seeing the plates in her hands, Gopal turned to Shyam Babu and said-
“Brother, please eat a little first, drink some water. We can talk afterward at leisure.”
Shyam Babu and Gopal had been friends since their days in the lower primary school. There was hardly a year’s difference between them, only a few months in age. Though they came from different villages and different castes, their bond was strong. Shyam Babu belonged to Champapur, while Gopal was from Kamalpur. Champapur and Kamalpur were adjoining villages. In truth, they were less than a mile apart, but because of the way the boundaries had been drawn, they fell under two separate panchayats. To outsiders, though, the two villages seemed like one, so close were their ties.
The three of them, Shyam Babu, Manmohan, and Gopal, were still finishing their refreshments when Aparajita appeared again at the doorway, this time carrying three cups of tea on a tray. The men sipped their water and then moved on to tea. After a couple of gulps, Gopal said-
“Brother, the time for the formal proposal must be drawing near?”
Shyam Babu replied- “The day after tomorrow, we will have the feast. That is why I came today to discuss everything.”
Gopal asked- “And how have you thought of arranging it?”
Shyam Babu answered with a weary smile- “Gopal, the social environment has become such, and is still becoming worse, that people like us can barely breathe. Yet, as long as we live, we have to remain within this same society.”
From their conversation, Manmohan understood that the matter at hand was Shyam Babu’s daughter’s marriage, and the upcoming feast related to it. The discussion went on for a while, and then Manmohan broke in gently-
“My boy Shyam, you are an educated and thoughtful man, so what can I add? But let me tell you this much: all my life, for these eighty-odd years, I have heard from people and seen with my own eyes that every age has had all kinds of people. The best of men and the worst of men both have always existed. Even in the golden age of Satya Yuga there were thieves and scoundrels, and today we live in Kali Yuga, where such things come even easier. As for my own life, if God grants anyone a son, let him grant a son like Gopal.”
Hearing these words, Shyam Babu lifted his eyes and gazed at Manmohan with deep feeling.
When Shyam Babu kept looking at him intently, Manmohan felt within himself that Shyam Babu wanted to hear more. He said-
“My boy, we see it in our own villages and hear of it in others too, how sons mistreat their fathers. But my own life, the bond between father and son, has been such that even now it feels like the rhythm of day and night in a single season, ever constant, unchanged by the harshness of time. Of course, when nature strikes, storms and disasters do bring a momentary disturbance. For a while the cycle of day and night seems shaken. Yet soon enough, the order returns to what it was before. That is how it has been in my life.”
Both Shyam Babu and Gopal listened to Manmohan’s words with full attention, their minds turning over what he said. In the midst of this, Gopal stepped into the courtyard, filled a brass lota with water, then fetched a pill from the medicine bag and handed it to his father.
“Babu, take this now, and lie down for a while,” he said gently.
After giving his father the medicine, Gopal returned and sat again on the chair beside Shyam Babu. Shyam Babu said- “Gopal, the feast is fixed for the day after tomorrow. You must be there.”
Gopal did not answer at once. He sat in silence, though his mind was restless with many thoughts. Until now, whenever there had been a feast in the family, relatives and members of their own caste had always come and gone freely. Yet here was Shyam Babu, setting aside his twenty-household kin and instead calling upon him.
Seeing Gopal quiet, Shyam Babu spoke again-
“Gopal, five men will go. Father and brother Sushil belong to the household, so they are certain. That makes two. You will be the third, I myself the fourth, and we will take Budhan as the fifth.”
At this, Gopal asked hesitantly,
“You mean you will not take anyone from your own kin, or your caste?”
Without pause, Shyam Babu answered-
“No.”
Hearing this, Manmohan sat upright on the cot and said in surprise,
“Shyam Babu, such a thought...?”
Seeing Manmohan’s startled reaction, Shyam Babu’s heart flared like a smoldering fire, the kind that shows no flame on the surface yet burns deep and steady within. Hearing both his own half-spoken thoughts and his father Manmohan’s words, Gopal too felt shaken. He could not fathom why Shyam Babu had suddenly taken such a grave decision. Still, Gopal said nothing, keeping his lips sealed as though stitched shut.
Shyam Babu and Gopal were of the same age, classmates from school through college until their B.A. Shyam Babu, after graduation, passed the competitive examinations and entered the Bihar Administrative Service, while Gopal, left alone with his brothers, chose not to pursue employment outside. He stayed back in the village, devoted to farming and family life. From childhood, their ways of thinking had run along the same channel, which strengthened their bond and deepened their trust in one another.
Yet Shyam Babu carried a hidden wound. He was not merely displeased but inwardly pained by the character of his father, Ghanshyam Babu. In Champapur, there were four men, Ghanshyam Babu, Puhup Lal, Devkant, and Singheshwar, known for their malicious ways. They thrived on spreading lies, stirring quarrels, and dragging neighbors into lawsuits. Their eyes were ever fixed on seizing others’ property. Even in matters of kinship and family rituals, in marriages and alliances, they sowed discord with fabricated tales, creating needless conflict.
What made it worse was that, in public, these four often posed as bitter rivals, standing against one another like sworn enemies. Yet behind the scenes, they would join hands and weave plots together. The result was endless disputes in the community, filled with abuse, quarrels, and violence.
Shyam Babu could never accept even an ounce of his father’s wicked nature or his destructive role in society. Time and again, he had tried to dissuade Ghanshyam Babu, but nature is stubborn. Once it takes hold, it clings, sometimes for life, until death itself severs it. Because of his father’s relentless malice, Shyam Babu had regarded him as a true enemy of society from the beginning. For this reason, he had never placed the slightest trust in his father.
When Manmohan sat upright and fixed his gaze on him, Shyam Babu said-
“Uncle, the state of today’s government machinery is something you yourself have seen as well as I. How deeply it has sunk into corruption. Here caste influence dominates, there communal pressure, elsewhere bribery and transactions, and again in another place the pull of regional interests. The entire system is entangled. Yet from childhood I had resolved never to wrong another and never to stain my character. That vow I have kept intact, and so long as I live, I will preserve it.”
Manmohan responded warmly- “Wonderful, my boy. For this, you have my blessings.”
Shyam Babu went on,
“Uncle, I am now arranging the marriage of my second daughter. Not a single coin is being given in dowry, just as in the marriages of my two sons not a single coin was taken in the name of dowry. What social customs are simple and natural, those I have always observed, and I will do so in this marriage too.”
At this point Gopal interjected-
“Brother Shyam, why is it that you are setting aside your relatives and community and asking me to go with you for the feast?”
Shyam Babu replied-
“Gopal, even now my heart cannot accept that in the end a father would act as mine has, led by his malicious nature. But you have been my companion all my life. If you stand with me, then no matter what schemes my father plots, not even the malice of God himself could touch me.”
Gopal bowed his head slightly and said-
“Brother, whatever command you give, I am ready to obey now and always in the future.”
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