Jago Patel

(From Gujerati Folk-lore)

(1)

Dipavali holidays sent a thrill of joy into every heart. The rains were satisfactory: it was a ‘bumper’ harvest. The villagers were busy with various harvesting operations. The women-folk moved merrily, helping their men. Round about the village of Vadod were seen heaps of new corn. It was a scene of happiness and joy. The farmers were delighted to see the fruits of their hard labour; the women were full of joy at the prospect of getting new clothes and ornaments. Jago Patel’s whole family was working hard and sharing in the merriment.

It was a fine winter morning. The beautiful heap of new millet was shining in the sun. An aroma peculiar to new corn was filling the atmosphere. Jago Patel was meditating over his affairs. His eyes were fixed on his heap of millet. Just then, the devil entered his mind "Ah! we toiled and . . . toiled hard;this whole heap is . . . the produce . . . of our sweat . . . hard labour . . . We laboured day and night . . . oh! . . . in and out of season . . . And this Durbar will take away his share without any trouble . . . He paused a moment, his big eyes still steadily fixed on the heap. Again the devil began, "If I can take away one cart from the heap, so much will be mine, it will be saved from the clutches of the Durbar . . . ."

(2)

It was past midnight. The whole village was plunged in deep slumber, when the Patel with the help of his brother and a servant, filled his cart with millet. Like the Brahmins who are never careful about their stomachs when invited for a dinner, the miser in Jago Patel worked and filled the cart much beyond its capacity. The party started home with the Patel in front and the Patel's brother behind; the servant was driving the cart.

As the patty reached the boundary of the village, the axle of the cart came out of its position and the wheel stopped. The Patel with his companions tried his utmost to replace it, but they could not lift the cart on account of the excessive load. It was a very critical moment for the Patel. He dared not approach anyone for help, lest he be detected. Neither could he go since the distance that way was long, nor could the cart be emptied there. The Patel was in a fix. What to do? As time passed on, his guilty conscience began to weigh heavily on him: the fear of being caught red-handed overtook him. And the idea of public censure made him more nervous. In such a bewildered state of mind, Jago Patel had to wait there for help from a chance passer-by if any happened to come that side.

Gajabhai Gohil–that was the name of the village Durbar–had stirred out early in the morn, as was his wont, for his morning ablutions with a jug of water in hand. To protect himself from the winter cold, the Durbar had covered his face, and his eyes only could be seen. The Patel, as he saw him coming, thought, in a frenzy of fear, "This man being a traveler, cannot know the secret." And as the Durbar was passing by the cart, he hastily accosted him, "Aye! just help me in setting this cart right." In the darkness and confusion, the Patel could not recognise the Durbar on account of the covering on his face; but the shrewd Durbar at once recognised his Patel, and his long experience revealed the nature of the secret. He said to himself, "The Patel is carting away his corn to evade the payment of revenue." "If," he said to himself on second thoughts, "I am recognised, the Patel will be in an awkward position–a man of Jago's type will be ashamed to death." So the Durbar, looking downwards to conceal his identity, helped the party, and the Patel setting the cart right drove home delighted. The Durbar also went his way thinking, "All right, let it go; what’s there? . . . The poor fellows toil and toil . . . and if they try to take away a little . . . what does it matter? . . . After all they are my ryots . . . they are like my children . . ."

(3)

Six months passed. The incident was nearly forgotten.

Gajabhai had some some guests. The havaldar went to Jago Patel’s to ask for some cots and bedding. The Patel hesitated to give them, so the havaldar exchanged some hot words. The Patel lost his temper and said, "I do not want to stay in such a Durbar's place."

"Who prevents you from leaving? Can't you get a living elsewhere? Be quick," replied the haughty havaldar.

This added fuel to the fire. The Patel was all anger. He acted up to his words. At night he prepared to leave the place. The Durbar was quite ignorant of the affair. Next day, the Patel with his family and cartloads of luggage, passed by the Durbar's palace. The simple villagers tried to dissuade the Patel but he became all the more resolute to leave. The whole affair reached the ears of the Durbar, who came down and tried to calm the Patel, asking the reason of this step.

"Durbar! Whatever we have got, we place at your disposal. We keep for ourselves only torn bedding even in this winter; yet your worthless havaldar harasses us. We can't tolerate it." The Patel spoke out his heart in an angry voice.

The Durbar calmly understood the position. He was very much pained, and punished the impudent havaldar.

He told the Patel, "Well, now return and forget the past." But the Patel persisted. He could not be prevailed upon. "Patel, go as you will. But find such a Durbar as will help you in lifting the cart of millet in darkness," the Durbar whispered in the Patel's ear and went away to his palace.

The Patel could not utter a word. A cold tremor passed over him. He murmured to himself, "It was the Durbar in reality. He helped me to steal his own share; to save my prestige, he forgave me. What a generous heart! Never uttered a word of rebuke even in private! Ah! Can I find such a Durbar elsewhere? What magnanimity of mind!"

The Patel, full of gratitude to the Durbar and shame for himself, turned the carts.¹

1 Jago Patel's descendants live even today in the same village. This incident occurred within living memory, about seventy-five years ago. But it is only one among many. A similar incident is also related about Bha Kumbhaji, the Durbar of Gondal.