THE SMALL WHEEL

“The deeyivoo  saar (District Educational Officer) is coming.”

The school peon Venkanna usually arrives at the headmaster’s house at six in the morning. That day he woke up at midnight and started getting ready because the “deeyivoo saar” is coming. The “deeyivoo saar” is the District Educational Officer at regional level who conducts the inspection of schools once a year.

His wife Simmachalam did not share his enthusiasm.
“Who cares whether it is deeyivoo saar or his grandpa. They don’t give a damn about you. Here you are going nuts for a over week now,” she snapped turning over to the other side on the mattress.
“How would you know,” Venkanna responded, a little annoyed. He put on the shirt he got it ironed last night. It cost him 12 paise.

He could see his father in front him, wavering like a cobra. Eight years back Venkanna moved to the city. At that time his father told him, “Hey, Venka! We are not going to raise some two story building by ducking our duty and playing hooky. For us there is pride in working hard, have a measly meal and sleep under the tree.”

That is why Venkanna raised a beautiful garden around the school although it was not in his job description; there was no special allowance for that job; the only word from the headmaster was a nod and a cluck. Last year when the schools inspector came with his wife, Venkanna gave her fresh blossomed marigolds in a lotus leaf.

She took the flowers and said “lovely” in English. And she smiled kindly. The Inspector took the hint and asked him, “So do you do all the gardening?” There was a touch of kindness in his tone.
Venkanna was ecstatic. “Yassaar,” he nearly choked as he replied. He felt like the movie producer whose very first picture celebrated the 100the day showing. The garden feasted his eyes like a gorgeous woman in her prime of life.

“Good. See, our country prospers only when young people like you work hard,” the Inspector said.

“Yesyas. He iza very industriousend sinsearu,” said Sarmaji, smiling.
Venkanna felt thrilled one more time.

He was also in the picture taken at the end of the day. That picture is still there in his hut, hanging low from the beam, and hitting Simmachalam’s forehead each time she moves around and thereby receiving a few choice blessings from her.

Venkanna took that job in the city because he felt that a school job is respectable. He thought that that way he’d get a chance to see the elite, could exchange a few words with them, etc. Not because he has no life in his village. And he thinks his move has paid off. Once a movie star who plays villain roles came to visit the school. He was not like a villain at all! Everybody said that he was quite a gentleman. Venkanna agreed. On another occasion a minister came to visit. That day the hustle and bustle in the school was almost like the Mangalagiri Temple car festival. Venkanna was also in the photo taken at the time the minister laid the foundation stone for the building. The minister even had a kind word for Ventanna.

He could count such experiences on his fingers. Simmachalam does not understand this.

“Why can’t we stay in our village and farm our little strip of land,” she questions with puzzled looks.

“What is there in farming. One time flooding is enough to wipe out everything clean,” says Venkanna.

“Didn’t my brother say that we haven’t had a grain in 3 years?” he adds. ” And why should we believe him?”

“Well, because we have to believe one man or one God. Who said that? I think it is that movie star Jaggayya.”

She doesn’t know all the intricacies of a school administration, poor thing, he told himself, feeling a little sorry for her ignorance.

Simmachalam watched him leave whistling. She also got up to go to work.
A little smile spread on her lips.
                                                      ***

Sarmaji hit the roof as soon as he spotted Venkanna at the gate. “I told you to come at dawn and you show up now,” and then he turned toward the kitchen, “Is the coffee ready yet?”. He turned again to Venkanna again and said, “Go, go. Quick. Get a horse-cart. Not that lame horse. I know it is your wife’s brother’s father-in-law’s cart. That horse moves like a snail. Get Viraswamy’s cart.” Sarmaji continued issuing orders while fixing the pleats on his dhoti and putting on a clean shirt.

By that time Venkanna is long gone. So he turned again to the kitchen and continued giving orders to his wife. He was going bonkers for over a week about this DEO’s visit. He got the entire school building washed as if it were Pongal festival. Made sure that the cobwebs are cleared from all corners. All the library books that scattered all over the town were brought back. The walls were whitewashed. The black boards received a new coat of paint. The falling fence around the garden was fixed upright.

For each of these jobs he had to bellow like a small train engine. He told Elamanda to paint the dark patches on the exterior wall. Elamanda brought a bucketful whitewash, went through a few gestures of painting as if he were playing a role on the stage and disappeared behind the walls to smoke a beedi.

“If you keep disappearing like this how can we get the job done,” Sarmaji asked him with a frown.

“Just for a second, saar, just for one puff” he replied humbly.

Somehow Sarmaji got him to pick up the brush again and turned around only to see that Venkanna was nowhere to be found. He told Venkanna in no uncertain terms that beautifying the garden comes only after painting the black boards. Assuming that Venkanna was in the garden, he sent Puttanna to bring him back in to the building. He waited and waited. There was no sign of either of the two peons. Gritting his teeth, Sarmaji went to find them himself. He found them in the south wing where the first Assistant was making them move book shelves.

A few weeks ago the first Assistant had all the library shelves moved to the science lab since there were no books in the library. He was using them to stock the science equipment and other stuff. Now, since the library books are being gathered and brought back to the library, the shelves need to go back to the library.
Sarmaji has just about had it. “How come you need only these two idiots all the time. Didn’t I tell you to put the lab attenders to work also?” He said swallowing his anger like a bitter pill and issuing an order in the form of a question.”

“Attenders, sir? Where are they? One of them went to fetch your children. And the other went to your house. He said your wife wanted to run an errand for her”. There was a note of satisfaction in his tone–the kind one feels after settling a long overdue account. It was bothering him for a long time. The headmaster won’t let the peons go to the assistant’s house.
“How long does it take to fetch the children? These fellows take two hours for a 5 minute job. Why couldn’t you tell them to return soon. Do I have to mention that detail as well? Of course. The world has to think I am a heartless despot and you all model citizens.”

Sarmaji left growling like a ferocious animal.

The first assistant was confused, failing to see the connection between his words and the headmaster’s reaction. By the time the arrangements were completed almost all of them showed the Shakespearean face. No matter how attentive they were to details, there was always something still incomplete. By the time Sarmaji finished the coffee the younger daughter gave him, he saw Venkanna, along with the horse-cart and Ramulu holding the straps. Since Sarmaji was ready, he got into the cart. “How come it took so long,” he said as if it were a formality to yell at Venkanna.

“Viraswamy’s cart broke down. And you said ‘no’ to my brother-in-law’s cart. It took all this time to track down Ramulu,” answered Venkanna. He replied because it was his duty to reply. He wasn’t sure if Sarmaji cared to hear what he has to say.

Ramulu’s horse has no physical disabilities. But it is not broken yet. Ramulu and the horse were still new to each other. He walloped his whip and jumped on to the cart seat. The horse in protest completed on full circle right where he was. After a few minutes of struggle all of them were still at the same spot. Ramulu got off and was trying to explain the directions to the horse; the horse started walking backward!

In Sarmaji’s mind fear replaced anger. Panic struck and he started uttering several sounds expressing surprise, anger, fear and frustration. The script went somewhat like this:

“Hey, hey, ho, ho..”

“Stop, stop”

“What is this? A horse or a donkey?”

“This is what you’d get for the DEO?”

“Gosh!, what did I do to deserve this?”

“Should I jump out or stay put?”

The last line was not spoken but it was in his head. One of his legs stuck out from the back of the cart.

Ramulu kept reassuring him that there was nothing to be afraid of. He said the horse was a pancakalyani(God Indra’s). It’s only a matter of getting used to. Once he starts he will fly like a rocket…
Venkanna couldn’t decide who he should side with.

While all the three thus got lost in their own monologue kind of words, they arrived at the railway station. They felt better after learning that the train was running two hours late. They were also happy that coffee in the thermos stayed in the thermos. The horse settled down chewing the cud.

Finally after two hours’ waiting, the DEO, his youngest daughter Saroja, his personal assistant and the peon got out of the train. Venkanna felt great being the first to meet the DEO among all the school peons. “Hey, why are you standing there like a flagpole. Get that suitcase and basket,” Sarmaji yelled at him. And he turned to the DEO and expressed his belief that they had a comfortable journey. Then they were lead to a kind of waiting room. While the DEO and his daughter were freshening up, Venkanna felt lost since he wasn’t sure how he could serve the coffee for so many people. The DEO’s peon did not offer to help Venkanna. He was maintaining his status.

Venkanna was jerked out of his train of thought by Sarmaji’s voice. He was cursing Venkanna for standing there like a lamppost and ordered him to serve coffee. Venkanna picked up the thermos like an accursed spirit. Still he did not know how to explain that there wasn’t enough coffee in the thermos for all of them.
Sarmaji looked at him growling one more time. There is a blame in those looks. They are saying I brought you because you are better among the lot. Those looks are saying “Oh, God! Why are you doing this?” The DEO was upset that Sarmaji and Venkanna were standing there staring at each other like the actors who forgot their lines on the stage. The daughter was annoyed for no reason. The first assistant intervened. He gestured to say that “Serve it only to the DEO and his daughter”.

The personal assistant pulled Venkanna aside and asked, “Can’t we get tea around here?”

Venkanna sincerely hoped that he could tea for this gentleman.

“No, sir. We don’t have a tea stall within 4 miles. As soon as we reach our village, I will make sure that you will get first class tea,” he said making the personal assistant sad and happy within same one minute.
Finally each struggling with their own thought, they all managed to arrive at the guesthouse.

Sarmaji noticed that the DEO is not pleased with the room. He turned to Venkanna and said, “Didn’t I tell you to get this room cleaned first thing in the morning,” and added as a compliment, “lazy buggers”. Venkanna was enjoying the moment–watching the daughter’s pleasure at the sight of the red hibiscus which he himself put in the vase last night. So he was not upset by Sarmaji’s anger. In stead he convinced himself that “The saar, as an officer of the system, has his own problems and obviously forgot that Venkanna was with him (Sarmaji) since the crack of dawn”.

Sarmaji also got lost looking for an answer for some question the DEO raised. “Cant we get cigarettes here?” He wants Navycut. Sarmaji couldn’t tell the DEO that the only kind they can get here is Berkeley, or have to settle for beedi. So he ordered Venkanna. “Go, quick. Bring a tin of Navycut. Should be back as if you never left this place.”

Venkanna jumped on to his bike like a fighter-cock in the ring. He was hoping that he could find one or two cigarettes, if not a whole tin, in somebody’s pocket. He knows he can’t get even if he had a crystal ball. All that is on his mind at that moment is how happy the saar will be IF he can find some.

By mid-day he could find a half-packet in some small store. “You took half a day to bring 5 cigarettes,” Sarmaji yelled but there was no harshness in his voice. “Go home and get carrier meals. It is getting late.”

Venkanna hopped on his bike again and left. The madam has the food ready but there were no banana leaves to serve in. He had to hunt for leaves for another hour. By the time he got to the guesthouse, everybody there was boiling with hunger and anger. Venkanna scrambled through and quickly set the table. By the time they all finished eating it was three in the afternoon. Sarmaji told Venkanna to go home for his lunch and be back in five minutes.

Only he knows that he cannot get home in five minutes; God knows there is no time to eat. So he went to the fruit stall at bus stand, ate a bun and returned. It took ten minutes.
It was announced that the DEO will rest for the day and go on inspection of the school the following day. Venkanna was told to stay there waiting on the DEO.

The DEO’s daughter wanted to see the garden now. So inspection of the garden was scheduled for the same evening. The daughter picked as many flowers as she pleased. The DEO looked at the fresh vegetables with “approving” eyes. He pointed out his favorites without exactly saying so. He turned to Venkanna and said, “Very good”. His daughter sad, “Beautiful”. Venkanna nearly choked as he replied, “Namaskaram, saar and madam”.

In the evening he again brought carrier(food) from the headmaster’s home. It was 10:30 by the time they finished supper. Venkanna still hasn’t gotten permission to go to his home for his supper.

The DEO laid back in the easy chair comfortably, and lighted a cigarette and flipped the burning matchstick to the area behind. The match stick fell on the plastic table cloth. There appeared a design automatically on the table cloth.

Sarmaji flared up pretty much like that table cloth. It was his. He got it from his home just to impress the DEO. “You scoundrel! How many times have I told you that you should always be alert. You will never learn. The only way you can learn is if you are fired. Alertness.” Then he turned to the DEO and said apologetically, “I told him, sir, yesterday to keep an ashtray here. Can’t he remember it when he brought the cigarettes at least?”
Venkanna did not say that he was never told about the ashtray.

The DEO said, sounding casual, “You must know how to manage these people. Fine him”. It was almost like preaching some sort of a universal philosophy. Sarmaji told Venkanna that he was fined five rupees. The reason: negligence of duty, he was further told.

The next day the DEO has inspected the classes, the school building, the laboratory, and the library. He showered praise: the school building is clean, the garden is beautiful, and the all the teachers appeared to be respectful. He shook hands with the headmaster and all the teachers. Gave his blessings to the young and advised them to work hard.

After putting the DEO and his gang on the train, the headmaster took a sigh of of relief. “Gosh, he’s gone. I could have easily performed the marriages for two girls,” he told himself. He also hoped that the DEO would not write a “bad repot” after all this stress and strain. Sarmaji proudly relayed DEO’s comments to his wife. The DEO said, “I should congratulate you”.

At the same time, Simmachalam was serving food for Venkanna, gave him a piece of pickle she got from madam’s house and saved for him. “You haven’t eaten for a week. At least now you sit, relax and eat well,” she told him with a touch of concern in her voice.
Venkanna took a bite of the pickle with great relish and went on narrating all the wonderful things that happened at school. “Can you imagine how happy the deeyivo saar was to see the garden; he praised it so much; he said very good. The young lady said oh, beautiful, lovely in English. The headmaster saar made me pack one basket full of flowers and two baskets full of vegetables to send with them. It seems he’d kill for green beans. And he also shook hands with the headmaster and all the teachers. A perfect gentleman!…”

Venkanna kept his blabbering with great zeal.
Simmachalam was watching him with giggles.

There was only one detail Venkanna did not mention to Simmachalam. That he was fined five rupees the day before!

*****
===================================
Author’s note:
As a daughter of a school teacher and later as an administrator of a university library, I have come to know the low-class people– peons, janitors and maid servants. I was always impressed with their openness. I’ve also noticed the pride those low-class people have in their jobs, their big heart to forgive the transference of the frailties, fears and frustrations inherent in the middle-class moralists. And, at the end of the day, these small people enjoy their measly meal and sleep with content. How many of the middle class and the rich can say that?
Then there are questions: After we got our independence, we have democracy in place, have laws against untouchability professing equality, are working towards the eradication of the evils of caste system, and introduced western institutions in the name of progress. In stead of, or in addition to, higher castes now we have higher officials. Have we really progressed? Have things really changed? If so, for whom?

EYES

 On a quiet evening Gopala Rao was walking slowly lost in his own thoughts. His wife Sumitra was walking behind him as if she was tracing the steps around the sacred fire on her wedding day. Their three year old daughter Jaya formed a link, adjusting the space by pulling mother forward and dad backward. Sumitra lifted her head when they arrived at the municipal school. 

“Did you see that?” she asked him, pulling Jaya to a stop. In a chain reaction Jaya stopped Gopala Rao. Gopala Rao looked up in the direction Sumitra was pointing, clucked with his tongue and starting moving forward again. But he couldn’t resist turning around and looking one more time at the boy-hawker who was hollering “Bombay cake, Bombay cake made with milk,…” in a kind of funny musical tone. 

The boy didn’t appear to have been born blind. May be with a little effort the boy could get back his eyes. Being an eye-specialist Gopala Rao couldn’t help thinking as he kept walking. 

Sumitra was still upset from the last time she mentioned and he was indifferent. 

“Mommy, Bombay cake,” Jaya mumbled sucking on her thumb and tugging at mom’s saree pleats with the other hand. 

“Not now. When we get home,” Sumitra told her. Jaya wasn’t happy with the suggested compromise. She stood there fixed to the ground. 

The hawker probably noticed this difference of opinion among the three people. He sang one more time “Bom…bay…ca..ke…”. 

“Not now,” said Sumitra again walking toward the middle of the street. Gopala Rao quickly pulled her to a side, rescuing her from a Lorry that was passing by and said curtly, “Watch the road”. 

“I can see. I do have eyes,” she said pulling her arm from his grip. 

“Did I ever deny that?,” Gopala Rao replied teasingly, “You know I married you because of those two lotus-petal like eyes.” 

The hawker was following a little behind them. Jaya reluctantly following them, still whining. Sumitra was very upset. Gopala Rao wanted to calm them down. “She wants it so bad. Why not get a piece for her,” he said softly. 

Sumitra knew that if she had suggested it, he would have given a small lecture on several factors of food science. Jaya noticed the conciliatory tone in dad’s voice and called the hawker. 

Gopala Rao looked at him with inquisitively. His pair of pants was torn in a few places. The shirt was two sizes bigger and dirty. The boy tucked in the shirt and kept the pants in place with the help of a belt tossed away by somebody. He has a tie round his neck, hanging loose as if he didn’t know how to tie the knot. But the boy looked like a prince. Probably about 16 years old. He was carrying an old kerosene tin. One side of the tin has a glass panel making the contents visible. He has a handkerchief whose color is impossible to determine. The Bombay cake pieces in the tin were looking grayish. For some reason Gopala Rao was very annoyed. 

None of them spoke until they arrived home. 

The next day Gopala Rao was reading newspaper on the porch. Sumitra was working on her embroidery. Both of them looked up with a jerk when they heard the same hawker in front of their home. They looked at each other as if they couldn’t believe what they heard. 

“What are you doing?” Gopala Rao asked feeling obliged to talk. 

“Trying to use my two eyes God has given me and do something,” Sumitra said, desperately undoing the wrong stitches. 

Last night they had an argument about the boy who was not related to either of them in any way. It became tense. Come to think of it, there was really no need to get into an argument either. Sumitra was upset about Gopala Rao teasing her in the middle of the street. Gopala Rao was upset because Jaya was asking for that stupid food on the street and in his opinion Sumitra did not make sufficient effort to discourage the child from buying it. Just about when both of them were making an effort forget all this… 

“Daddy, bombay cake..” Jaya walked in with the same hawker. 

“There are cookies in the kitchen. No more cake”. 

“Mommy..” Jaya was intent on getting that Bombay cake. She was about to break into sobs. 

“Take them, Sir. These are much better than those cookies. They are made specially and with real milk,” said the boy. 

“How do you make them,” Gopala Rao expressed curiosity, examining the boy’s eyes from a distance. 

The boy suddenly stood up straight and said, “That is a professional secret, sir”. 

Gopala Rao laughed. “Not bad. You have spunk.” 

Jaya was still whimpering and pulling at his shirt, “Daddy…” 

“Here, sir, have a piece. Taste it. pay me only if you like it. If you don’t like it, don’t pay,” the boy took a piece out from his tin and was about to hand it Gopala Rao. Jaya quickly grabbed the piece and ran away. He took another piece, as if he knew what happened, and gave the second piece to Gopala Rao. “Here, sir. Please you eat and tell me if it is not good,” he said. 

Gopala Rao unconsciously took the piece and asked him, “Are you from around here?” 

The boy looked a little sad and said, “No sir. I am from Bobbili.” 

Gopala Rao expressed surprise. “What? You traveled from one end of the State to the other end for this?” 

“For this?” The boy repeated. A burst of anger and sorrow rose quickly and died in his throat. He choked as he continued, “I am a Velama boy! sir. I am Ranga rayalu.” 

Both Gopala Rao and Sumitra felt something tugged at their hearts. It was like they picked on a healing wound. They wanted to say sorry in the British tradition but somehow they couldn’t for fear of sounding ridiculous. 

The boy sat down as if pulled down by the weight of his own story. Like he said earlier, he hails from a Velama ruling class. He was the last child in the family of four girls and six boys. His parents sent him to school when he was five. Everything was fine for about 4 days. On the fifth day, two of his peers forced him out of his path. He never saw his family again. The current foster family brought him to this place. He cried, kicked and screamed, and tried to run away but to no avail. One night they put jilledu sap in his eyes and caused him to go blind. They used to pester him to go begging. But he would not agree for such calling. He claimed, coming from a ruling class, he is used to giving, not receiving. He was born at midnight. According to horoscope he should be either an emperor or bandit. “I will never go begging, no matter what,” I told them. The foster family was dismayed at the boy’s obstinacy and endurance. He put up with all the beating and remained as good as his word. As a last resort, they encouraged him to start this Bombay cake business. He was nine at the time. He has been in this business ever since. 

From Sumitra’s eye a tear rolled down and disappeared in the embroidery frame in her hand. 

“I am sorry,” said Gopala Rao. And asked him, “Doesn’t anybody cheat you?” 

The boy laughed proudly. “Usually nobody does. Even if somebody does, others around see that and come to my rescue. It happened once. Sometimes people give me counterfeit money also. It’s okay. What can we do? Aren’t there people who have both the eyes and yet get cheated? Anyway, I’ve to go. It’s getting late,” the boy said as he got to go. 

“Wait,” Gopala Rao gave him the money for the second piece the boy gave him. 

“No, sir. I can’t take the money. You did not eat it,” he said. 

Gopala Rao did not want to hurt the boy’s feelings. “Oh, I did. It is good,” he said. 

The boy laughed. “No, sir. You did not eat it. I may not have two eyes. But my entire body is my eyes. How do you think I am surviving in this business?” 

“He is so smart. If he has the eyes, may be he would have become an emperor,” said Sumitra, looking into the distant horizon. In that moment Gopala Rao was entertaining the same thought. “That is the reason our sages say that the eye is the most important part of the head,” he said aloud. 

The following week Gopala Rao was getting ready to go to Vellore. Sumitra told him several times that he should try to see if the doctors at Vellore hospital could get Ranga’s eyes back. Gopala Rao talked to the people at Vellore and made the necessary arrangements for Ranga’s eye surgery. Gopala Rao gave a letter of recommendation to Ranga and wished him well. 

Ranga was overwhelmed with gratitude. He was shaking as he said, “How can I ever repay your debt, sir?” 

Gopala Rao smiled and said, “Put your eyes to good use. Then you have paid off my debt and your mother’s as well.” 

Ranga left saying namasthe again and again. 

A week passed by. Gopala Rao hoped that Ranga would come back to tell him how the surgery went. Even for Sumitra it became a daily routine, looking for Ranga. They knew there are ungrateful people in the world. But this takes the cake! While they were lost in that desperate condition, they received a letter from the friend in Vellore. 

“Dear Gopala Rao! 

The eye surgery on Ranga’s eyes was successful. But yesterday he left without telling us. Probably he came to you. Talk some sense into him. There is nothing wrong in teaching a lesson to a boy who has just entered the world anew. Right?” 

Gopala Rao was at a loss for reply. Ranga did not show up on that day, nor the next 15 days. Gopala Rao even wondered if Ranga was dodging him. He made some effort but to no avail. He started wondering if his charity went to an undeserving person. 

                  *** 

One day he happened to go to Chittoor. He was walking absentminded and suddenly felt a jab on his right side and then heard somebody shouting, “thief, thief.” 

He saw a big crowd. Apparently the thief was caught. He quickly reached that place. 

“Pickpocket. Picked somebody’s pocket and running away,” somebody explained. Gopala Rao involuntarily checked his pocket and was shocked. That was his wallet. 

He squeezed into the middle of the crowd. To his surprise he found Ranga there pinned to the ground by a few good Samaritans. 

He was gasping for breath as he was trying to explain, “My sister is sick. I am running for the doctor. I am no thief. No pick pocket.” 

“Ha, ha!. Who is your sister?” People around were laughing at him. And for a little more fun a couple of them kicked him. Gopala Rao approached them and looked at Ranga with piercing looks. Ranga didn’t recognize him. 

“Look. He is not a thief. That is not my wallet. I do know that his sister is truly sick. So move.” He cleverly removed his visiting card from the wallet while talking to them. 

The crowd dispersed. Gopala Rao threw a dirty look at Ranga and kept walking away fast. After a while he realized that Ranga was following him. 

“That is really putting your new eyes to a very good use,” Gopala Rao said with a touch of sarcasm. Ranga twitched like a bird hit by an arrow. 

“Doctor sir!” he said sounding desperate. 

“Chi!” Gopala Rao said in disgust, unable to utter another word. 

“Doctor sir! Please just listen to me. Just one word. I never saw your face. So I really don’t know you. But I can recognize your voice amidst hundred thousand voices. I knew it was you as soon as I heard your voice. There is no one I can call a friend but for you. You are the only friend I’ve got.” 

Gopala Rao shook him off and kept walking fast. He returned home the same night with broken heart. 

“What happened? How come you are here already?” Sumitra opened the door for him and asked him with surprise. He put his hands on Sumitra’s shoulders and looked into her beautiful eyes. He felt sick in the stomach. 

“What? What happened to you?” Sumitra asked somewhat confused. 

“Our Ranga. The same Ranga we thought would become an emperor if he had eyes. Well he is famous alright. He became a robber,” he said painfully. 

Sumitra was stunned. It took a few seconds for her to muster words. 

“Where did you see him?” she asked. 

He told her the entire story. Sumitra listened to him and then said, “You should have listened to what he has to say”. Gopala Rao shook his head as if he didn’t know what to think and slipped into sleep in the couch. 

                   *** 

Next day Gopala Rao was leaving for the dispensary. He felt like somebody was hiding behind the wall. At first he couldn’t recognize the person. The next day the same thing happened. After a week he caught the intruder. That was Ranga. 

“What? Now you want to break into the house too?” Gopala Rao asked rudely. 

“Ranga!” Sumitra saw him and called his name in surprise. 

Till that moment Ranga was standing there with a stupid expression. He suddenly collapsed and started crying and nudging his face into his knees. 

“Hey! What’s that? Come on. Stop. Get up,” said Gopala Rao not knowing what else to say. 

Sumitra was staring at him with concern and was trying to understand what was all that about. 

Ranga lifted his face smudged with tears and said in a hoarse voice, “Doctor sir!”. 

On seeing that face Gopala Rao cooled down. He couldn’t utter a word. 

Sumitra went in and brought some coffee in a stainless steel glass. 

“Have some coffee,” she said. 

Ranga started talking between sobs. 

“Doctor sir, you won’t believe it. Nobody believes it. But I have to say it. That is why I came here.” He wiped his tears with his shirt sleeves and continued. “I have told you before that I am a Velama, a ruling class. I am not used to stealing and panhandling. I can’t. Even in my childhood, even when my most favorite cookie or candy was right in front me, I would not touch it unless I was offered. But now, after getting this new pair of eyes,.. there is something.. I can’t explain…” Ranga stopped feeling gagged as his anguish took over. 

Gopala Rao hid behind his newspaper. 

Sumitra felt debilitated and leaned back in her chair in a slump. 

Ranga, staring at the newspaper in Gopala Rao’s hands, continued, “Sir, you should know. Why am I feeling like this? What happened to me? I was never like this. It was in the hospital. I mean I felt like this for the first time. I saw a little girl sitting near the bed next to mine. The little girl has bangles on her wrists. I couldn’t move my eyes away from them. From then on, I was feeling greedy about every thing I saw. My entire mind is totally muddled. That is the reason I left the hospital without telling them. I have been wandering like a madman. On top of it, people on the streets are looking at me with suspicion, moving away from me. I even heard somebody say ‘He looks like a crook. Look at his eyes”. Tell me, sir. Why my eyes are looking like crook’s eyes?” 

Ranga’s question went piercing straight into Gopala Rao heart. 

“Tell me, sir. You should know why I am like this?” 

Gopala Rao was feeling terrible. He was pale. Both Sumitra and Ranga were shocked to see him like that. Finally he managed utter a word. “Ranga,” he said. 

He looked away as he spoke as if he was talking to himself, “Ranga! Probably it is a psychological reaction. This wanting to possess everything that you lay your eyes on may be some compensatory result of what you have missed so long. By nature you are a wonderful person. Why don’t try to control yourself for sometime. If that doesn’t work, I can arrange for another check up”. 

“Is it possible?” Ranga asked with some disbelief, “I mean can I change back to myself again?” 

Gopala Rao nodded in assent and went into the house. Ranga bid goodbye to Sumitra and left. 

Sumitra sat there for a long time. She was praying silently that somehow Ranga should shake those thoughts that were so unbecoming to him 

That night Gopala Rao kept tossing and turning in bed and finally said, “It is all my fault”. He felt like Ranga’s eyes were staring at him whichever way he turned, like in Singhal’s picture. 

“Why?” asked Sumitra. 

“Those eyes belonged to a thief. Out of remorse, he decided to donate his eyes.” 

Sumitra couldn’t believe her ears. “You knew this and still…” she couldn’t complete the sentence for anger choked her. 

“Oh, no, no. I did not foresee this result,” Gopala Rao replied tapping on his forehead. 

“So, What do you think you will do when he returns after a week?” 

Gopala Rao threw his arms into the air in despair. 

They didn’t have to wait a week. 

After a couple of days, there was a headline in the newspapers. There was a bank robbery in Madras. The following day there was a follow up. “A young man named Ranga turned himself in and also gave all the details about others in the gang. He also insisted on serving the full term of his sentence”. 

Gopala Rao took a deep breath. “You are really a classy boy.” He said addressing a boy who is not in his presence. 

A tear rolled down Sumitra’s cheek and disappeared into her saree folds. 

In a far off place one mother’s heart felt a sudden stab. 

                     *** 

  

 

 

(Published in Jayasri monthly in 1967)

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