All Over a Tree

ALL OVER A TREE
(A Story)

By JAGADISH CHANDRA MEDHI, M.A. B.L.
(Rendered from Assamese by P. Goswami, M.A.)

Sraddhananda and Sadananda traced their lineage to Brahmananda Gosain of Anandapur. They were brothers. Brahmananda had been a scholarly preacher. The Ahom kings had granted him considerable land. Brahmananda died but in time the Gosain family of Anandapur came to be quite rich and influential. “The tiger and the deer drank in the same tank”, as it is said, so powerful they became. Possessing men and women, land and property, they lived like zamindars. The Gosain used to move about in the dolah (sedan) on people’s shoulders.

They fell as they had risen. It was due to family dissension. Women quarreled with women, boys with boys, old men with old men. Each turned a deaf ear to the other. If one did a thing, a next would come and undo it. If one undid one, the next would undo two. Thus quarrelling year in and year out, the two brothers came to the point of separating.

A jack-fruit tree. It had bent down and grown slantwise. The trunk fell to Sraddhananda’s share, the main tree to the share of nanda. The tree flourished, the trunk on one side, the top on other, as if to annihilate both the brothers.

In the morning of Ambubasi in the month of Ahara, Sadananda’s son Devananda crawled up the tree to have a fruit. Sraddhananda’s son came out rushing and pulled the other by the foot. Devananda fell down like a severed pumpkin. Sadananda who witnessed the whole affair rushed in like a hawk and shouted down the place. “Does one slay a man for a paltry jack-fruit? I will see whose father planted this tree!” he cried, and slapped Sraddhananda’s son Vidyananda hard. Then he picked some jack-fruits and went home taking his son by hand. Sraddhananda was not at home at the time, else matters would have gone to the limit.

When Sraddhananda came home his wife and son started lamenting and gesticulating. His wife wailed, “My child had touched his feet and appealed to him not to pluck the green fruits. Can you lay it down as a fault? Should he be beaten thus? He came round only after oil and water had been applied to him.”

Sraddhananda was infuriated. He began to address Sadananda with those obscene words which a dictionary-maker keeps out of his work. Sadananda came out with his wife and children. Sraddhananda’s wife and son also took their stand behind their liege-lord. There ensued a passage of words. “I will make you vomit jack-fruits, I will,” Sraddhananda gesticulated. Indeed he filed a case against his brother and nephew for having stolen his jack-fruits. Both were summoned to the court. Sraddhananda grinned self-complacently, “Let father and son now go and press oil.”

On the first day of the trial, the accused persons had to stand in the dock. Sraddhananda laughed outright, “Have jack-fruits in plenty, yes, as much as you can. Would you cleanse your ear with a tiger’s nail?” Sadananda began to burn at these words.

In such a competitive spirit did the parties enter into litigation. Able lawyers were engaged. The magistrate advised, “Come to a settlement.” But who would listen to whom? Sraddhananda had his land measured by a Mandal. Sadananda also engaged a Mandal to measure his land–the tree fell to his lot. Sraddhananda hired witnesses, the other won them over by paying higher fees. Scores of rupees were spent. Day passed after day, week after week. Fees to pleaders and petition-writers exhausted them. After an interval of seven months the case was taken up. Witnesses were examined and affidavits taken. Some voted for Sraddhananda while the others for Sadananda. One Mandal said the tree belonged to Sraddhananda, a second said it belonged to Sadananda. At last the case was argued by the pleaders. The pleader belonging to the party of the complainant said: “The tree and its fruits belong to him in whose land it has its trunk, for the tree is living on sustenance sucked from the land belonging to the complainant. The fruits are but the transformation of the sap of his land. Because the two accused have carried off the fruits without the permission of the complainant, they are guilty of committing theft.” The pleader of the accused laughed away the argument. He said: “Where is the evidence that the trunk of the tree is within the jurisdiction of Sraddhananda? One Mandal gives one version, the other a second one. Even if it is assumed that the trunk belongs to the complainant, it cannot be said that the fruits belong to him. The air above a piece of land may be claimed by the owner of that land. Now, this particular tree draws with its leaves nitrogen from the air belonging to the accused, just as it draws with its roots juice from the soil of the complainants. So the fruits are not the transformation of the sustenance drawn from the soil of the complainant only, but the transformation of the accused’s air also. Especially as the fruits and leaves are hanging in air belonging to the accused, they belong to the latter, and as such, a complaint of theft cannot arise here.” The complainant’s party produced a ruling of the Patna High Court, and the aceused’s party a ruling laid down by the Bombay High Court.

Three days after, the magistrate gave his verdict. Setting aside the rulings of the Patna and Bombay High Courts he wrote: “It is a quarrel between two brothers, on succession matters, at most on boundary differences. It cannot be determined to whose share the tree will go.” He allowed the complainant to bring a civil suit and acquitted the accused.

To Sraddhananda the verdict was a bolt from the blue. It was too much ado about nothing. After having spent four to five hundred rupees it turned out thus. The pleader put the blame on the magistrate, the petition-writer on the witnesses, the witnesses on one another. Sadananda’s people on the other hand were making merry. To which ever quarter Sraddhananda turned, he was laughed at by the people of the other side and reminded of the jack-fruits. In grief and mortification he came home as one dead. In Sadananda’s house people gathered and laughed and sang, took tea and sweets and prattled. “Well, not that a jack-fruit is a valuable thing. But it is a point of prestige, self-respect. Supposing our Junior Gosain had lost the case, could he have shown his nose about? Our Senior Gosain, on the other side, is lying quiet like a stoned dove. A good lesson indeed, a good lesson, that he has learnt today. Yes, in you is Brahmananda’s blood, in you only”–meaning Gosain Junior. All this pierced the ear of Sraddhananda. He started shaking in anger.

Seeing so much noise and merry-making, Sraddhananda’s five-year old daughter went to see what was happening there. Sadananda’s son covered her head with the refuse of a jack-fruit and said, “Go, let your father have them.” The girl, with her head all spoilt by the adhesive juice of the peeling, wailed to her father. Sraddhananda could take it no further. He picked up an axe, went out and started striking at the jack-fruit tree. Seeing this Sadananda rushed out with blazing eyes. The two started flinging invectives at each other and pulled at the axe. Bidyananda came to the scene and struck on Sadananda’s head with a stick. The wounded man, with his top bleeding, snatched away the axe and gave a blow upon Bidyananda’s head. The axe entered the skull and the boy fell down like a severed plantain tree. In a moment all the noise and merry-making was silenced by this terrible bloodshed.

Sraddhananda began to shake. He became wild with anger and grief. He cursed and cried. His wrath against the murderer of his son grew in proportion to the realization of his sorrow. It was a burning hatred, which knew not a moment’s rest, not a shade of forgiveness. Day and night loomed before his eyes the dead body of his Bidynanda, that blow on the head, the torrent of blood. Unremittingly he remembered the terrific image of Sadananda, and the latter’s axe cracking his son’s skull. He found it impossible to restrain himself. He felt like piercing his brother’s throat with his teeth and suck blood.

A sensational case of man-slaughter started. Both the sides were egged on by an inhuman hatred. One tried to save the murderer, the other to have the life of the latter. Truth and falsehood could not be distinguished one from another. Things were repeated. If one party procured witnesses by paying them, they were won over by the other party. At last the accused was found ‘not guilty’–on the benefit of the doubt. When he learnt the verdict of the court, Sraddhananda cried out: “Then do you say that my son was killed by the air? He snatched the axe from my hand and cracked my son’s skull, do you question even that?” He stepped on to a juror and demanded, “Do you have any doubt regarding the truth that you are alive and kicking and my son is dead?” The juror ran away. Like a maniac Sraddhananda showered obscenities on the court, the law, the jury and the pleaders. Sadananda again laughed for joy.

Sraddhananda wailed and heaped curses on his brother. At last the retired Mandal of the village, Cheniram Thakuria, happened to be at his place. He spoke words of solace, told him of fate, of the writing on one’s forehead, spoke of the Gita and the Bhagavata, the tales of Yudhishthira and Rama, and also discoursed on “The Brahman is Truth, world is false”. Last of all he suggested, “Reverend Sir, if you wish at all for revenge, then you may start a civil suit as the magistrate had advised, in order to prove that the tree belongs to you. I hear the Sessions case compelled the Junior Gosain to mortgage his land to Jay Narayan. If you can now get him into another he would have to sell all his belongings.” Sraddhananda jumped at the suggestion, his eyes lit up with hope. It was as if Indra got the bone of Dadhichi, to slay Britrasur. “I shall exterminate him root and branch. I will reduce him to such a state that the villagers would refuse him food.” To a Brahmana, saying means doing.. The very next day he
sold the earrings of his wife and filed a civil suit.

“Me he is going to exterminate! Let’s see who has more fire in his hand,” thundered Sadananda. The question cropped up again: whose jack-fruit tree it was. As before, both the parties entered the legal arena, again they procured witnesses and won them over by bribing, again there was calling of bad names and showering of curses. A civil suit and the glance of Saturn have the same import. At the end of a year and a half, the Civil Judge gave his verdict: “They are brothers and have not separated at all; they cook their meal on the same hearth. The jack-fruit tree therefore belongs to both.” Sraddhananda’s case was dismissed.

“I take meal with that cur! The slayer of my son, an arch-sinner, I fast if I happen to see his face–with him I take my meal!” Offering sweet pinda to the seventh degree of the Civil Judge’s forefathers and claiming no fee, Sradhaananda returned to his lawyer. He began to curse himself.

Then came Sadananda and Devananda, and placing their feet on the plinth of the poor fellow, they exclaimed, “Instead of exterminating you, we are just sitting on you. Don’t you know, it’s our joint property.” The muscles of Sraddhananda began to twitch.

“Do you dare so much?” he shouted, “Is there not the District Court for an appeal? What are you looking at, you curs! If I am a Brahmin at all, I will make vultures move on your plinth.” Next day he sold whatever he had at home and arranged for an appeal. Again it was argued whose tree it was.

In spite of his age the Judge was not sensible. He disallowed the appeal. He just corroborated the Civil Judge’s verdict, Sadananda now had a roaring time of it. He rushed up Sraddhananda’s mango tree. Why should he care? It was joint property. The court had determined that. Sraddhananda came out with a piece of bamboo. Devananda snatched it away, and tied the old man to the tree. He sucked a mango and pushed the stone into the old man’s mouth. Have it, my man, have it. Let us enjoy our joint property. Let me have the kernel and yourself the shell.” Sraddhananda felt like tearing at his own flesh. What he did was to mortgage all his property at Jay Narayan’s firm and file an appeal in the High Court. Again it was asked whose jack-fruit tree it was.

Three years have passed since then. Mr. Bikash Bharali, who belongs to my parts, is an advocate of the Calcutta High Court. He has returned home after a year and a half at the news of his mother’s death. At noon both of us were passing the local Court. We saw a man with a heap of papers on his shoulder. He was murmuring to himself and picking up any scrap of paper that could be seen. When we came near hear him he cried out–“Ho, ho, ho.” Mr. Bharali was startled much as to move a few steps. The man confronted us and murmured, “I shall exterminate him, the cur. See, I have all the necessary copies.” He started pulling at the sheaves of paper and mouthing obscenities. I knew how to quieten him.

Reverend Sir, would you have tea?”

“Tea! I wouldn’t touch water without first destroying him.”

Three years rolled away and the litigation came to an end with a verdict in favour of Sraddhananda. By the time Sraddhananda came to know that he had won, he was a raving maniac with only one mantra on his lips; “I shall exterminate him, the cur! I shall...” All his property was lost to Jay Narayan and the bone of contention–the jack-fruit tree–was cut down by the Matwari to build his oil-mill,–that too on the hallowed plinth of the great Brahmananda Gosain of Anandapur, the scholar and landlord who had been so kindly treated by the Assam Kings.