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(A short story translated from the original in Hindi by the Author)

RAVI S. VARMA

The first Eastern breeze broke out the news of the sudden death of Kishna, the village cobbler. It stunned all who heard it and soon spread from one end of the village to the other.

That broad-shouldered sturdy young man was endowed with a robust health and although swarthy in complexion was handsome and attractive. He was only 28 years of age and had a small family of an obedient wife and three children. He made shoes the whole day long, sang songs and led a vivaciously care-free life; he was not at all concerned with what went about in the world outside his family domain. He had a snug and small world of his own creation where his order was in no way less than the command of a king. His nature was different from that of the most other cobblers; he never touched wine, nor did he gamble and inflict barbarous tortures on his sprightly wife under the heady wine. He was happy in every sense of that word.

He clearly loved his wife and always worried how to keep her happy. When he made shoes he would call her and seat her beside him. He tried to strike a happy combination between the two activities: romancing and earning a living; and that too most aesthetically. When his wife insisted on putting some stitches in a shoe herself, he lovingly dissuaded her saying, “Chameli, you can’t do this. It’s not your work; it will cause blisters in your tender hands�; and holding her by the hand he would stamp a kiss on her crimson cheek. Poor Chameli would blush.

The business was slackening and the prices of necessaries were shooting high; but with his hard labour and strong will Kishna somehow made both ends meet. His happiness, his songs and his love were alive as before but still worry and anxiety ate into his heart as he found it difficult to procure even two square meals a day with all his industry and labour. 

Kishna was not a man to give in so easily, he had indomitable confidence in his power to work. His violent youth considered it to yield a shame to the adverse tide of circumstances. He sought a part-time employment to cut fodder with choudhari Harsukh. Every Morning and evening he would stand with his broad breast before the choudhari’s house, cut forty or fifty kilos of fodder and hum songs of love and romance. The well-chiselled and beautiful figure of Chameli constantly shone before his eyes and he was so absorbed in her thoughts that she did not notice when he had finished his work. He would rise, wipe the sweat off his forehead, and putting his napkin on his shoulder would silently bow to the choudhari and rush towards his home. It was really a surprise how he could keep himself away from the intoxicating company of Chameli. After finishing his work he walked so fast as if a long-separated lover were going to meet his beloved.

This extra labour in the mornings and evenings supplemented Kishna’s income. Sometimes the chaudhari’s wife kindly gave him some loaves of bread or vegetables, etc., which he gratefully acknowledged and blessed their children heartily.

Red and brown clouds were floating in the Western sky and Kishna was busy cutting the fodder as usual. Suddenly he burst out: “A snake! A snake has bitten me.�

Abdul, who was chopping wood in the shade down below, heard his cry and ran with his heavy axe. He saw blood oozing out from two or three places on Kishna’s arm round which was curled a black snake about four feet long. For sometime Abdul was in  a fix; he could not decide what to do. Then suddenly the axe rose high, flashed in the faint glow of the evening sun and the next moment Kishna got rid of both his arm and the snake.

As time passed Kishna’s arm was healed up but not a single grain of corn was left in the house. Now he could neither make shoes nor cut fodder. For a while he sank deep into depression and anxiety. Only three things possessed his mind: the lovely face of Chameli, three innocent children and his future.

“I will not yield to the cruel world like this,� he determined one day and began to teach Chameli how to make shoes. If he had not discouraged her from learning this art earlier out of his love, would not have faced this difficulty. This he realized now.

Feeling shy and hesitating in the beginning, Chameli gradually became expert in putting stitches. Now, smoking at a hubble-hubble, Kishna gave her instructions only. Under the force of habit his chopped arm would rise again and again towards the shoes but it only trembled and could do nothing. Tears of despair and sorrow glistened into his eyes. Slowly and slowly, Chameli began to make shoes as good as Kishna himself did. The first shoe she made was not very well-finished but it seemed to give Kishna a great solace that he should now cease worrying about his future. Filled with pleasure he went round the whole village showing and praising that shoe as the day dawned. When at night in the gleam of the earthern lamp Chameli put stitches under his direction, his heart brimmed with esteem for her and he felt as if he had recovered his lost arm.

Although the shoes made by Chameli fetched higher price than those by Kishna, yet they could not fight the increasing cost of living with this meagre income. Kishna was a man of patient determination. “My left arm is still intact; with a stick in it I can look after the cattle.� This idea inspired him and the next day he sought a job of driving cattle to the jungle and looking after them. He got the job easily for two reasons: sympathy for his pitiable condition and the time his absence would give the wanton lovers in the village to seduce Chameli whose enchanting, youth and inviting beauty still seemed irresistible.

Early in the morning Kishna collected cattle from every house and scattered them into the jungle by the noon. Wandering after them, he felt tired and would lie down under the shadows of the old banyan tree to rest. Chameli brought his lunch tied in a piece of cloth. Both of them ate together, wistfully remembered the days that had gone by and planned at length for the days to gone. Chameli stayed with him for sometime and talked about here and there: about something meaningful and something meaningless, about something of the village and, something outside the village. When Chameli seemed to prolong her stay, Kishna would himself say, “Go home Chameli, now. Who knows where the children might be dawdling? What is the use of wasting time sitting idle? If you make a pair or so of shoes it will help us satisfy our hunger. Oh! how the times are changing...� He tried to peep beyond the azure sky shining brightly in the sunshine, behind the kites flying over the horizon, and the shadows of desperation darkened his face.

Tending the cattle for the whole day, worrying about the family for the whole night, increasing cost of living, growing despair, and unbalanced diet–all began to tell upon Kishna’s health. The shadows of old age darkened his blooming youth. In place of glistening muscles one could now see protruding bones. When he returned from the jungle in the evening, the raised blue veins on his dusty legs spoke of his fatigue, anguish and weakness. He wished to remain lying for the whole day because of langour and listlessness but the problem of food and growing family did nor let him rest. In spite of all his efforts he could not relax for a moment, for he believed in destroying himself struggling against adversity than surrendering to it meekly.

Chameli put her heart and soul in her work and tried to raise the family’s income. She asked the children to take Kishna’s lunch to the jungle at noon so that she could devote more time to making shoes. The purple glow of youth flushed on her cheeks, constant chewing of betels made her lips rosy red; and these brilliant shades of red made her dark brown figure all the more bewitching and enticing. The contours of her plump body were still prominent and hard. She began to lose interest in Kishna and seeds of indifference started growing in her heart. When she compared her lusty body to the ematiated figure of Kishna a cold sigh stole through her lips.

One day Kishna was caught among the cattle and was forced to take to bed. A bull had struck him in the stomach with its horn and there was a severe pain, the recurrent spasms of which made him restless and he groaned the whole daylong. This distracted Chameli from her work, she had to nurse and look after him. She fomented his stomach with a piece of woolen cloth, bandaged it and prepared food for him as directed by the physician. A devoted Hindu wife as she still was she tried to provide him all comfort; she would give him water, put the hubble-bubble before him, ask him to take medicine and as he had been forbidden to rise from his bed she put pots for him to relieve himself. Besides this, she had to look after her three children, make arrangements for their food and clothing and to manage all these things, she had to attend to her shop and make shoes; she could not be neglectful also about her food and the child growing in her womb. Chameli was crushed under all these painful duties cares and anxieties.

For sometime she fought against the circumstances cursing her fate, but how long could she? Kishna’s prolonged and stubborn illness was corroding his body; there seemed to be no of hope of his ever recovering from it. This gloomy predicament made Chameli desperately despondent; she was completely knocked down and her indifference began to develop into hatred for Kishna. Her heart revolted but the age-old customs of faith and service put fetters on her and made her reconcile to her lot.

Winter came and aggravated Kishna’s illness and pain; he would now groan and cry the whole day, abuse children and threaten to overthrow the present social order and God, the supreme legislator of this world. He became a veritable nuisance for each and every member of the family. When smilingly Chameli settled the price of shoes with her customers, he burned with jealousy. “Oh put some ambers in the clay pipe…� “Give me some water…� “Oh! come quickly, you are delaying the medicine…� and he would call her unreasonably without really needing any of these things. Sometimes he would even try to browbeat the customers. Chameli’s neglectful behaviour made him suspicious about her character. His utility had now been spent up, he was a burden on the family–a thorny burden which keeps on prodding and piercing every moment.

The night was cold and shivering but Kisnna’s throat parched and he felt as if it was almost choking. For sometime he tried to restrain his feelings because he very well knew that nobody would get up to give him water in that cold night, but when thirst became unbearable and he could no longer suppress this spasm of pain, he called out, “Chameli, give me a draught of water.�

“Chameli, would you give water � ...� This authoritative cry was broken by indignation and engulfed by the darkness that filled the hut.

Kishna mustered all his power and shouted once again but in that hushed silence he could hear nothing except the noise of muffled whispers and convulsive breathing,

Somehow restraining his anger he drew the matchbox from under his pillow and lighted a match. The dim flicker filled the hut for a moment.

“Ough!� spluttered out from his mouth at what met his eyes and the match dropped on the ground. Recurrent tides of remorse, hatred, anger and repugnance rose and tormented his heart. They became intenser every moment till he took a decision.

At day break, driving their cattle to the jungle, the village folk saw a corpse floating near the farther end of the pond.

A crowd gathered near it. Some people dragged the corpse to the bank and seeing the bandage round the stomach, Shibbu cried, “Oh! This is Kishna’s corpse!�