“Aree Posaalu! You give these chappals at Dora’s house and go to school,” Bhumaiah said to his son Pochaiah.
Bhumaiah was a labourer. He was around forty. Earlier he used to make chappals. Not that he had completely stopped making them now but he made less of them. He brought them from
Pochaiah was about thirteen years old. He had sharp eyes and a lean figure. He was studying in the eighth class. Why should one be submissive to any- this was his attitude. He was fair enough in his studies. He was in a hurry to go to school. Taking his books from the shelf, he turned to his father when he heard his words. Bhumaiah was wrapping up the chappals with a paper.
“Why father! You give me work when I was going to school? You have set up a shop itself. If they are in need, they should come to our shop and take them. Why should we go to their house and hand them over,” he questioned his father.
Bhumaiah was astonished at his son’s questions. They would often make him think. There was truth in his son’s question. They could as well come to the shop and take away the chappals. But supplying footwear at their houses to all Doras of the village had become a practice since his father’s times. What would happen if it were stopped? Even a thought of it was so frightening.
“ It is only on your way. Why don’t you hand them over at Dora’s house?” he said again.
“ What happens if we do not give at their house? You are afraid of every one,” Pochaiah said while taking the books in to his hand.
“Posaalu! You speak in such a manner after learning merely alphabet. You do not know about Doras. They would keep everything in mind. They would wait and take revenge at some right time. You heed me. Hand them over. If you do not give them I will have to close the shop and go myself.”
“What will they do, father?”
“They can do anything. The papers of our land will be with them, my dear son! Is it not enough if they let somebody encroach our land? You cannot understand all these things. You listen to me.”
Lakshminarayana and his land…Bhumaiah remembered. He was terrified when he recalled how they were driven out of their land.
Pochaiah could not understand his father’s words. But he felt that there was some truth in his fear. Without uttering a word he took the chappals in his right hand, and books in left hand and walked out.
It was surprising for him to find his father, who was not afraid of even snake, feared the Doras. Lost in thoughts he crossed the corner and walked towards Dora’s house. He had to cross the Dora’s house on his way to school. The surroundings at Dora’s house appeared strange for him. Ramkishanrao was the Dora. He was the Patwari , the village revenue officer .His brother was Jaganmohanrao. He was the Patel , the village police officer. Any officer-from Girdawar to the Revenue Divisional Officer, Moril saab to The Deputy superintendent of Police- who visited the village should call on him and stay in their house. Even the sarpanch, the village president was their follower. Thinking so he came onto the main road. His classmates were going to school. By the time he would reach school after handing over the chappals the second bell would be over, he thought. He became furious at his father.
The situation in the village had changed now. Harijans and backward class people were also receiving education. But Ramkishanrao’s family had not lost their control over the village. Pochaiah reached Dora’s house. A gigantic gate in the front, and a house inside. Chatting and puffing beedies two sunkars sat outside the house, guarding it like Ghurkhas. Pochaiah came there and stood like an accused before a court.
“ Hi pillaga! Why are you here?” said a sunkari. A spear like weapon was kept next to him.
“My father asked me to handover these chappals to Dora, I have brought them, ” Pochaiah said showing the chappals in his hand.
“Wait, I’ll see what Dora is doing and come?” the sunkari said while getting up.
“Why don’t you hand over to Dora,” stretching them to the sunkari Pochaiah said, “I have to go to school.”
“Emiro poraga, Are you affected by delirium?” while going inside the sunkari said, “Would you go away without giving the chappals to Dora?”
As Pochaiah did not know what to do, he stood there waiting.
After five minutes the sunkari came out.
“
Pochaiah stood there, and began to have pain in his legs. He felt sad for missing the class that day. He became angry with his father and Dora. . Unable to do anything he stood as he was.
Half an hour passed.
“Won’t you see whether he has finished? “ Pochaiah said to the sunkari, ”I have to go to school.”
Sunkari went in and came out after five minutes. Pochaiah looked anxiously at him.
“Come, pollaga! Dora has come to kacceeri , the main hall” saying so the sunkari led him inside.
Holding his books and the chappals in one hand, and adjusting his shorts with an other, Pochaiah followed him. He was nervous and he did not suffer so even when he had not done homework at school. Crossing the main gate they went in. The bungalow looked like the hood of a snake. They waked through a gigantic door in to the hall. Ramkishanrao was seated in an easy chair. He appeared amiable and he appeared to have crossed thirty-five.
“Hasn’t your father come?” Dora said, “So he has sent them with you.” He got up, put on the chappals and walked a little distance.
“ They are a bit tight, pollaga! Take them home, get them loosened further and bring back.”
Pochaiah took the chappals from Dora and folding them in to a paper he came out along with sunkari.
He couldn’t go to school. With an anger bursting out at his father, he went home along with the chappals.
After ten years.
Over ten years the annalu, the naxalites had extended their influence over the villages. Ramkishanrao had lost his position of patwari and the lordship of Dora. All his land had turned barren. There was no scope to sell it away. Moreover the situation was such that he could not even remain in the village. So he left the place and settled in Karimnagar.
Within these ten years Pochaiah finished his degree, appeared for a competitive examination and had become a Mandal Revenue Officer.
Variety of footwear filled a big shop near the clock tower. It was around seven o’clock in the evening. Though three salesmen were attending the customers, however a few were asking the proprietor about something. He himself was showing a few models of footwear. When they didn’t like them he showed them some other models.
Then Pochaiah came near the clock tower for buying chappals. He stopped his vehicle on the side of the road, entered the shop and sat in an unoccupied seat. The proprietor who was putting on the chappals to a customer recognised Pochaiah and went back to the cash counter. Pochaiah was surprised when he identified him. He was Ramkishanrao.’ Such a great man has become so!’ he thought.
After choosing a pair of chappals Pochaiah went to the cash counter to pay the bill.
“Emiraa Pochaiah,” Ramakrishnarao called him as he used to address a serf in the village. “Heard that you are working here as a Mandal Revenue Officer?” Ramkishanrao said while receiving the amount from Pochaiah. On hearing him Pochaiah was offended deeply. Ramkishanrao leaving the customer in the middle and moving to the counter didn’t occur by chance. Pochaiah became conscious of his caste, which he had forgotten till then. The professions had been swapped. Ramkishanrao was selling footwear and Pochaiah in turn was the head of thirty villages. But Ramkishanrao’s attitude towards him had not changed. Ramkishanrao’s profession had changed but not his mind-set.
Taking the chappals, Pochaiah walked out of the shop.
-(Andhra Jyothi weekly-20-01-1995)
Translated from Telugu by Dr.T.Sreenivasa Reddy
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