Good-Riddance

(1)

Dukkhi chamar was sweeping and his wife, Jhuria, was busy putting the cow-dung on the walls.

“Why don’t you go and ask the Pundit Baba before he leaves for somewhere,” said the chamarin to her husband after they were done with their chores.

Dukkhi: “Okay, I’ll go. But where would he sit? Did you think of that?”

Jhuria: “Well, we can get a small cot from somewhere. Ask the Thukrani for it.”

Dukhhi: “Sometimes you say things that really burn me. You think the Thukranas will give me a cot? I could not get a bowl of water if I asked for it. Who do you think would give me a cot! It’s not our cow-dung or our worthless hay that whoever wants them just takes them. Just wash your little cot. It’s summer time. By the time he arrives, it will be dried.”

Jhuria: “He won’t sit in our cot. Don’t you see how religiously he lives.”

“You are right. I’ll break a mehweh-leaf and make a tray of it. That should be okay. Upper caste people eat from that leaf. It’s pure. Go, get me a stick. I’ll get a few leaves.” Said Dukkhi with deep sadness.

Jhuria: “You go. I’ll make the tray. Be sure to have the offering on the leaf-tray. Young Baba loses his temper pretty quickly. He’ll throw away the tray if he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t even care about his wife when he’s mad. Once he beat up his son so bad that the poor boy is still walking around with his arm broken. Present him the offering on the leaf-tray. But don’t touch it. Get that laborer gond’s daughter to buy these things from Shah’s store: sweets for offering, two pounds of flour, a pound of rice, half pound of lentil, quarter pound oil, salt and turmeric. Make sure to put four anas at the corner of the tray. If you cannot find the gond’s daughter, plead Jin to do this for you. But please don’t touch anything, or the hell will break loose.”

Mindful of his wife’s exhortations, Dukkhi picked up the stick, put a bundle of grass on his head, and started to walk towards the Pundit’s house. He couldn’t have gone to Pundit’s house empty handed. He had nothing else, other than mere grass, to offer the Pundit. He knew that if the Pundit saw him coming to his house empty handed, he would kick him out immediately.

(2)

The priest, Pundit Ghasi Ram, worshipped the god Ishwar. He’d get ready for Ishwar the moment he’d wake up. By the time he was done washing his face and hands it’d be eight o’clock. His true worship would then begin. The first part of it was a preparation of bhang. Next, for half an hour, he’d rub the sparkle-stone to get the sparkle-powder off it. Then, standing in front of the mirror, he’d draw lines on his forehead with a wood-splinter. He’d then put red cotton dots on his forehead between the carefully drawn lines. He’d make circles with the sparkle-powder on his chest and both arms. He’d then take out the statue of Thakurji, give it a bath, spray sparkles on it, put flower-garland around it, worship it, then would ring the bell. At ten, he’d be done worshipping, sieve the bhang, and then come out. By then there would be a few people at his door to make offerings for him worshipping Ishwar. That’s how the Pundit made his living.

Today when he got out worshipping, he saw Dukkhi chamar sitting by the door with his bundle of grass. The moment Dukkhi saw Pundit coming, he quickly got up and stood very respectfully, clasping his hands. Dukkhi’s heart was filled with reverence to see Pundit’s face. What pure, holy face that Pundit had. Small round man, bald, shiny head, puffed cheeks, eyes that shone with divinity. On top of that, the sparkles and the red cotton dots on his forehead made him appear god-like, or so he seemed to Dukkhi.

“What are doing here, Dukkhi?” Said the Pundit with an exceedingly sweet voice when he saw Dukkhi.

“I’m getting my son married, sir. Need to draw timing for it. When would you wish it?” Said Dukkhi, holding his head down reverentially.

Ghasi: “I don’t have time now, I’ll come in the evening.”

Dukkhi: “No, sir. Please wish it earlier. I’ve set everything at home. Where should I put this bundle of grass?”

Ghasi: “Just drop that in front of the cow. And sweep the front door. This sitting room’s walls haven’t been hand-painted with the cow’s dung in a while, so you can do that. Meanwhile, I’ll have my lunch. I’ll rest afterwards. Then I can come with you. Oh, yes, cut that wooden log lying there. And there are four stacks of hay over there, just put them in the hay-shed.”

Dukkhi immediately started to carry out the order. He swept the front door and hand-painted the sitting room’s walls with the cow’s dung. By then it was twelve-noon. The Pundit went inside to eat. Dukkhi was starving. He hadn’t had any thing to eat since the morning. But there was nothing for him to eat here. His house was at least a mile away. If he went home, the Pundit would get upset with him. The poor soul suppressed his hunger and started to axe the wooden log as the Pundit asked him to. The log had this knot in it which many strong men tried to break, but it won’t budge. Dukkhi knew how to cut grass and take it to the market, but he had no idea how to axe wood. Grass would obey him when he cut it; here he would strike the axe on the log, but nothing would happen. Even the axe started to lose the sharpness. Dukkhi’s chest was dripping with sweat. He was panting. He would sit down for a few minutes to rest, and then start again. His hands and legs were shaking with weakness, his vision was getting blurry, but he continued swinging the axe. Only if he could get some tobacco and a smoke-pipe he would gain the strength back, he thought. I’m not going to get any tobacco and a pipe here. This is a village of the Brahmins. They don’t smoke as the low-caste people like us do. He then remembered that there’s laborer gond who lives in this village. He must have tobacco and a pipe. Dukkhi ran to his house. He was right! He got the tobacco and the pipe, but no fire.

“Don’t worry about the fire, brother. I’ll get it from the Pundit’s house. They are cooking food right now,” saying that, Dukkhi went back to the Pundit’s house.

“Master, if you could spare me some fire, I could smoke a little,” said Dukkhi standing at the veranda door of Pundit’s house.

The Pundit was busy eating. “Who’s this man asking for fire?” Asked his wife, the Punditini.

“So give it to him.”

With her eyebrows curled up, the Punditini said, “With your face in the food, you don’t really care about the religion. The sweepers, the washermen, whoever, with their faces looking up, just come to our house looking for things, as if this wasn’t a house of a Pundit but a motel. Tell this guy to leave, or I’ll throw the fire on his face. How dare he ask us for fire.”

“If he came inside so what. He didn’t touch any thing. The floor is still pure. Why don’t you give him a little fire. He’s working for us. If I had a wood-cutter cut that log, he would’ve asked at least four anas for it,” the Pundit tried to make his wife understand.

“How dare he come in this house,” thundered the Punditini.

“It was that asshole’s bad luck,” said the Pundit, defeated.

“Okay, I’ll give him the fire this time, but if he ever comes back I’ll burn his face with this very fire,” said the Punditini.

Dukkhi could over-hear all this. The poor man was feeling guilty for what he did. He shouldn’t have walked in like this in their house. The Punditini is right, he thought to himself. An untouchable chamar cannot just come in to a Pundit’s house. These people are pure, that’s why everyone reveres them. They are not like us untouchables. I’ve become an old man in this village but haven’t got the brains to understand that. All these thoughts were occurring in Dukkhi’s head, that’s why he reacted as if he found himself in heaven when he saw the Punditini come out with the fire. Holding his hand in apology and putting his forehead on the floor, he said to the Punditini, “Mataji, I’m so sorry for what I did. This is just because I’m so stupid. Why would everyone kick us without mercy if we weren’t such idiots?”

The Punditini was holding a burning piece of charcoal with tongs. Hiding her face behind her cloth, and with a distance of about five arms, she threw that piece of charcoal towards Dukkhi. A big spark fell on Dukkhi’s head. He moved back quickly and tried to get rid of the spark from his hair, thinking to himself that this is his punishment for walking in and making impure a Brahmin’s house. God punished him for that so quickly, he thought. This is why the world is so afraid of the Pundits. You never make Brahmins angry. Your whole house could get destroyed. Your arms and legs could rot. He came outside, smoked the pipe, felt fit, picked up the axe and started to work on the log.

The Punditini felt bad when she saw that spark fall on Dukkhi’s head. When the Pundit was done eating, she said to him, “Give that chamar something to eat. The poor guy has been working all day. He must be hungry.”

“You have bread?” Asked the Pundit with the intention of not heeding his wife’s advice.

“We have about two or four pieces left over,” said the Punditini.

“Two or four pieces won’t do. He’s a chamar. He’ll need at least a couple of pounds of bread.” Said the Pundit.

“Oh my God! Two whole pounds! Forget it then,” said the Punditini, holding her ears.

“Mix sawdust in the flour and make a couple of fat bread for him. That ought to fill his stomach. Skinny little bread can’t fill the stomachs of these bastards. They need big fat bread,” said the Pundit sharply.

“Ah forget it. Let him die in the heat,” dismissed the Punditini.

(3)

After finish smoking, Dukkhi picked up the axe again. That little rest gave him some strength. He kept swinging the axe for about another half hour. Tired, he sat down again holding his head in his hands. The laborer gond, who was passing by, saw him and said, “You old man, why are you giving your life away. This log won’t split. You are just wasting your time.”

“Don’t ask. I have to move all those hay stacks also,” said Dukkhi wiping the sweat off his forehead.

Gond: “Did they give you any thing to eat, or it’s just that they want you to work for nothing. Why don’t you go and ask for some food?”

Dukkhi: “What are you talking about. You think we can stomach a Brahmin’s bread?”

Gond: “Whether or not you can stomach it is another story. Let’s see if you can get it first. He twirled his mustache, ate, and now sleeping. And he ordered you to work on this log. Even a landlord gives you something to eat. This guy is even worse. And he thinks he’s god’s man.”

Dukkhi: “Please don’t talk so loud. He may hear you. That’ll be a major trouble.”

Dukkhi started to axe the log again. The gond felt sorry for him. He snatched the axe from Dukkhi’s hand and worked on that log for half an hour. But the log won’t budge. He finally gave up, threw the axe away, and left, saying, “This log won’t split even if you die trying to do that.”

Dukkhi started to think. This log won’t split. How long am I going to work on it. There are hundreds of things to do at home. I have to get things. Why would this guy care? I’ll just move the haystack, and will tell him that I’ll work on the log tomorrow. Dukkhi picked the big basket and filled it with hay. The shed was at least 400 yards away. He figured if he could carry more hay in one trip, he could finish it in fewer trips. But who would carry that hay on his head? He couldn’t. So he carried it little by little. By the time he was done, it was four in the evening.

The Pundit finally woke up, washed his face and hands, chewed some paan, and went out. What he saw is that Dukkhi was sleeping using the big basket of hay as a pillow.

The Pundit said loudly, “Hey, Dukkhia, you are sleeping! Look at this log. It’s still the same. What were you doing all this time? You spent the entire afternoon carrying hay that would fit in a fist. And now you are sleeping! Just pick that axe up and split the log. If you cannot do it, the timing of your son’s wedding won’t be good. Don’t blame it on me then. That’s why they tell me, if I go to eat at low-caste people, those people become arrogant.”

Dukkhi picked up the axe again. He forgot all those thoughts he thought of. He was so hungry that his stomach was now touching his back. His heart was sinking. He tried to reason with his heart. This is a Pundit, he said to himself. He can mess up the timing and we will suffer. That’s why the world thinks so highly of them. Everything is timing. He can make or break anyone he wants.

The Pundit walked closer to the log and started to root for Dukkhi, “Yeah, go for it! You can do it! Hit it hard! Harder! What’s the matter, you don’t have any strength in your arms! Just don’t stand there and think! Hit it at that hole. This log is about to give up!”

Dukkhi had no feelings left any more. It was as if some strange power had taken over him. His hunger, thirst, weakness, and tiredness all had vanished into air. He could not believe his own strength. Each hit was strong as a mountain. Like a machine, he kept hitting the log with that axe for half an hour. Finally the log split and the axe fell out of Dukkhi’s hands. Like the axe, so did he. His starved body had given up.

“Hit it more so the log could split into even thinner pieces,” called out the Pundit.

But the Pundit didn’t want to bother Dukkhi any more. He went inside, showered, freshened-up, put on the clothes worn by Pundits, and came out. Dukkhi was still lying there. He called out, “Hey, Dukkhi, get up. I’m ready to go to your house. You have everything set, right?”

Dukkhi didn’t move.

Now, the Pundit started to get worried. He walked closer to Dukkhia and saw that his body was stiff as a log. Panicked, he ran to his house and said to the Punditini, “Dukkhia’s dead.”

“He was just cutting that wood,” surprised, said the Punditini.

“Yeah, he died cutting the wood. What’s going to happen now?”

“So what! Just tell the chamars. They will take his dead body home,” said the Punditini satisfactorily.

Within minutes, the news of Dukkhi dying spread throughout the village. Most people in the village were Brahmins; there was only one house there that belonged to the laborer gond. People stopped going the way the body was lying. Coincidentally, the well was that way also. Now, who would go and get the water? No one wanted to pass the dead body of an untouchable chamar. An old woman said to the Pundit, “Why don’t you have the dead body picked up? How are we supposed to drink water?”

Meanwhile, the gond went to the place where all the chamars lived and said to them, “Don’t any one dare pick up the dead body. The police will be investigating. If he’s a Pundit then he’s a Pundit in his house. If any one of you touches that dead body, that person will be in trouble with the police.”

The Pundit went to the chamars to talk them into picking up the dead body. But no one would agree. Only that Dukkhi’s wife and daughter started to cry and followed the Pundit all the way to his house and won’t stop crying at his house. With them there were about five-ten more chamarins, but no chamar. Some would cry, others would try to console them. The Pundit tried to make the chamars understand, threatened them, pleaded with them, but they were so afraid of the police that they didn’t listen to him. The Pundit finally gave up.

(4)

It was midnight but the chamarins kept crying. Even the gods couldn’t sleep in all those crying noise. But no one came to pick up the dead body. And there was no way that the Brahmins would pick up an untouchable’s dead body. It is not written anywhere in the scriptures. They challenge anyone to show them that.

Angry, the Punditini said, “These ogres have given me a headache with their crying. Even their throats don’t hurt.”

“Let these ogres cry. Let’s see how long they last. When he was alive, no one gave a damn. Now that he’s dead, they are all here to make a fuss over him,” said the Pundit.

Punditini: “Is it a bad omen for the chamarins to cry?”

Pundit: “Oh yes. It’s a really bad omen.”

Punditini: “I can smell that awful smell.”

Pundit: “That asshole was an untouchable. These people don’t even know how to eat properly.”

Punditini: “They also don’t know what hate is.”

Pundit: “They are all corrupted.”

The night passed. But no chamar came to pick up the dead body. The chamarins finally left after they were done crying. The smell of the dead body started to spread.

It was still little dark out there. The Pundit took out a rope, made a noose at one end, threw it at around Dukkhi’s feet to capture, and pulled at the other end to tighten. He started to pull the rope, and pulling it, he took the dead body outside the village. He ran back to his house, immediately took a shower, read the goddess Durga’s scripture, and sprinkled Ganga water over his head.

Over there, the vultures, crows, and the jackals were busy plucking meat off Dukkhi’s dead body. That was Dukkhi’s reward for all his prayers, his hard work, and his respect and reverence for others.