One last Stitch!

Soham’s mother was trying hard not to get any scars from the fire of traditional ‘chulha’ seen in villages (can be best translated as hearth) while trying to bake the rotis evenly that too barehanded. She engages both her hands, the left one to hold the hot tawa, whose handle is rusted after bearing continuous heat, don’t know when it will break and get itself offered to fire in the hearth which is ready to devour it and the other hand to make to fill the air between the two layers of flour to make rotis. The hands move mechanically as if it has been specially trained for that purpose. She sits in one corner of a room with hearth as if it is her place of worship. Though the room isn’t plastered and looks quite shabby, it has been arranged neatly. There are two-three large sized nails pierced not very firmly due to the rickety nature of walls on the verge of collapse which supports polybags, large and small in descending order starting from the wall itself. The floor is partly smooth, rough too which gives the sense that coarse materials had been used and immaturely handled. There is one LED bulb hanging in middle with the support of PVC wire that too of 5 watts, illuminating the room poorly. The bulb seems to be one of the low quality distributed by the government either for free or at the subsidized rate as they felt a bit concerned about the proletarian class and endeavouring hard to lighten their rooms. I sometimes think that they been thurst all the responsibility of saving electricity. Anyway, In the other corner of the room, some boxes are kept, usually made of Pewter metal though one was of wood and black in colour. All of them most probably be occupying winter clothes or maybe some object being carried out from ages or as a tokenism of ancestors.

Every time, the old firewood turns to ashes, she inserts a new one kept unorganised besides the hearth. The room filled with smoke just after the log was inserted, extinguishing the existing flame. To set it ablaze again, she blows air with her mouth until she starts panting with the scarcity of air in her body. At that moment, some of the smokes enter through the mouth and nose which is enough to choke her up but with few coughs, she eases herself easily just like a slipshod person. Some of the smokes also blur her vision and few drops of tear furrow down on the sidelining of the nose which she promptly sweeps away with the part of her clothes. During that blurred vision, she retrospects the cause of her present condition.

Two years back, how happy they were! They had a land in which they use to cultivate wheat and rice and sometimes maize which is sufficient for the survival of the family. Soham’s father, Somesh was categorised as one of the toilsome peasants in the village. He gets the fruit of his hard labour when he sees his crops thriving. Somesh took the loan from the money lender of the village during the sowing seasons and expecting it to return after harvesting by selling the crops. Situations seem quite propitious to him as there was sufficient blessing of the rain god and the crops bloomed like never before. It shone like gold in the dawn and danced like an angel at dusk. Somesh felt as if on the peak of ecstasy whenever he saw his crops. within a few months, the crop will be harvested and he will pay the debt- This is what he used to think all the time. But who has thought that sudden unexpected and unfortunate turn will ruin him?

It was the Diwali night. The whole village was aesthetically decorated with ‘traditional diyas/lamps’ as there weren’t any Chinese lights in tradition to waste the electricity. Also, the sound of firecrackers was echoing in that compact space. Somesh was returning from the cropland after fixing everything for harvesting tomorrow to celebrate Deepawali with his family and cherish moments of happiness together waiting for him ardently. The paddy crop was ready as its almost dried and the colour shows that it’s going to be good this time. Meanwhile, when he was on the end of his land and in hurry to plod to his sweet abode, he saw something bright and illuminated coming from a distance in quick succession and falling in his field. He took some time to realize what happened and before he could rush and shout the villagers for help, the haphazard crackers have done their work. Every bits and corner of the field was under the flame of the fire. The crops which were thriving a few moments ago are now worth nothing but a ton of countless ashes. Nothing is more painful for a farmer than seeing his crops being destroyed in front of his eyes. Somesh knew that he was ruined. He started weeping without any voice and tears as his every limb was being separated from his body and he knew it but was helpless. No one can say whether it was intentional or unintentional as the incident of similar type happened in the village before. When moneylenders wanted to seize the land of poor peasants-legally, they used to devise this type of plans so that they would be unable to pay the rent and as per the terms and condition laid by them, the land will go in their possession. Also, since there is no any evidence, you wouldn’t be blaming anyone and that’s their loophole. Somehow, He gathered the courage to go home to show his pathetic condition to his wife and son, who were also tormented by this news. He was anticipating the call from the moneylender very next day and he knew the situation will only exacerbate then.

“Ji sarkar, 6 mahine ka samaya de dejiye agle kharif ke fasal ke baad aapke paise lauta dunga, mere bal-bacche hai mai kya karunga, kaha jaunga”, Somesh replied almost begging and broken with tears.

“Dekh Somu(the abbreviated name is sarcastically uttered with extreme politeness as when a goat is fed well before slaying) jyada se jyada hum tumhe 15 din ki Mohlat de sakte hai, kagjat me to 10 din hi bache hai par humne tumhare acche vyavhar ke chalte 5 din aur badha diye” Isse jyada hum nhi kuch kar sakte tumhare liye!

This “used to” sound of moneylender echoed in Somesh ears. He knew that there is no use of requesting as ‘It is the land on which moneylender eyes upon’ and hence, he returned exhausted. Circumstances have turned him into a Slipshod person. He didn’t have many options left. In such situations, when a person had lost all his hope, he is likely to embrace some unfortunate steps. But still, being a peasant, Somesh decided to behave sophistically.

He quietly went to his room and started packing all the clothes he had. Meanwhile, Soham and Shyama gathered around him growing panicking, unaware about what will be his next move. He stood straight and about to go when Shyama holds him by the hand and ask almost crying- “Where are you going”?

To the city, to find some works! Take care of Soham. With these words, he nimbly crossed the threshold and disappeared soon.

Shyama keeps looking him with watery eyes until he disappeared from her sight with a few familiar questions struck in his throat- When will you come and Where are you going?

Suddenly, Shyama’s reverie was broken when she hears Soham calling her and she again came to present.

Haan Beta! Her mother said.

Soham turned 8 last month. At first glance, one can say that he is a malnourished one. His lean and thin body was covered by a tattered shirt which was desperate to mingle with the skin. The hairs though combed regularly is devoid of any application of shampoo or oil and had become rough. One half sleeve trouser was covering his lower part which too was worn out after repeated use. Only the Chappals, from one of the Relaxo company, appeared in good condition which might have been bought a few days ago.

He took in his hand, a portion of the shirt and showing it to Mamma said in gullible voice:

Mumma, This Shirt tore again!

Shyama gave a compassionate look to her son after having a glance at his face which she couldn’t hold for a long. She stood at once and hurried off to the other corner of the room where the box was kept. The purpose was to fetch thread and needle but nonetheless, she got the opportunity to shed a few tears to ease herself which she was holding for a long time. The very next moment, she came back giggling after soaking her tears in one corner of the saree and said:

Where is it Beta? Show it. I will be stitching it for the last time. Next time, your father will get a new shirt for you.

The boy was accustomed to this sentence. He said again with a mixture of anguish and politeness:

You say this only everytime!!

The stitch mark in the boy shirt has increased to a great extent. Left unanswered, Shyama quietly started “as said, The last stitch” and the child stood in attention pose as if once again some valiant soldier is being honoured with a medal for his bravery.

(Soham hasn’t visited the village for the last two years still he sends some money after a month or two which is usually spent on paying debts and buying ration. The land is now owned by the moneylender with other landless labourers working on it for him)

– Shashank