The Floods

THE FLOODS
(A short story)

Andhra University

The sun was shining bright and the sky was in clear blue. But, white clouds were wandering in the heavens often obscuring the sun; it was as if the sun and the clouds were engaged in a sort of hide-and-seek game. Consequently, the earth below appeared enjoying the bliss of light and shade alternately. A cold breeze was blowing at intervals from the direction of the distant mountains; and the leaves were rustling to the wind often, as if murmuring about something impending.

White and dark sheets of clouds were floating in the air moving to and fro across the distant mountain tops, like Romeos lingering around Juliets.

Beyond and above the range of the distant mountains, a continuous, dark bluish grey sheet of clouds, pregnant with huge volumes of aqua, was tantalizingly creeping up into the heavens.

It was the only two-storey building belonging to the Zamindar of that mediocre town. The building had all the elegance of sophisticated style: the walls were thoroughly white-washed; silk curtains were hanging on doors and windows; there were a big compound before the building and a pavement of cement from the building to the big iron gate with beautiful flower gardens on both the sides; in fine, everything was neat and orderly indicating the aesthetic sense of the inhabitants.

Before the gate, there was a jeep. Aham, the Kumar Zamindar, and his friend Sawmya, hand in hand, came out of the building. Aham wore a woolen pant and a silk shirt tucked. Sawmya wore ordinary cotton pant and shirt. A double-barrelled gun was hanging on Aham’s shoulder. They walked down the cement pavement to the awaiting jeep; Aham placed his gun on the seat and sat before the steering. Sawmya took his seat beside his friend. A peon followed them with a covered basket in one hand and a big flask in the other; he placed the two in the rear and took his seat on the seat. And the jeep was ready to start.

Availing the opportunity, a beggar-maid, who had been lurking there since long to beg a paisa or two any babu that might come out of the bungalow, stretched her hand towards the Kumar Zamindar.

“Just; one paisa babu!” she asked lookin pitiably at the two friends.

Anger concentrated red in Aham’s eyes. His angry looks surveyed her from top to bottom. Prakriti was her name, but was rudely called as Pakki by the people because of her shabby countenance and begging profession. Her complexion was neither black nor white but an amicable admixture of the two, only appearing unattractive for want of proper tending. She had an oblong face, wide and sparkling eyes, a chiselled nose, a well-shaped mouth, and a pointed chin: certainly not an unattractive figure, but only obscured amid her loose, thick, and thickly curled hairs whose ends had assumed the colour and stiffness of copper wires due to lack of application of oil and comb. She wore a dirty garment hardly sufficient to conceal the curves and turns of her youth. While she held stretching her right hand towards them, she had a small tin bowl hugged, between the left arm and the breast, like a mother clasping her baby to her breast with one hand while doing her domestic work with the other. Her bowl contained just a cup of rice of different qualities–rough and fine, old and new, polished and unpolished.

Aham sent his hand down his pocket, took out his cigarette case and lighter, lit one and had a deep puff of smoke.

Turning, then, his face to his friend he said: “Rotten beggars; why on earth should God send these parasites, I don’t understand!” With that he drove off.

The jeep was wheeling steadily on the road. Sawmya was silent and looking ahead through the front glass pane at the inclined zigzag road on which the jeep was running up. Aham’s attention was not steady on his driving; he was thinking about his friend and his possible inward reaction about his own remark, as regards the beggar-girl.

Aham seemed unable to bear the weight of his thoughts. He had the last puff of the fuming cigarette, and threw it out stylishly.

Looking askance at his friend he said, “I abhor beggars; I can’t bear even the sight of those fellows.”

But Sawmya did not appear to have heard his friend.

Aham paused a while and asked, “But, you...you seem annoyed with my remark about the beggar-girl. Isn’t it?”

Sawmya turned his face to his friend, smiled a little, and said, “After all, why should I?” With that he resumed looking through the glass pane.

“But, why should you feel that I am perturbed at your remark?” questioned Sawmya, turning suddenly to his friend.

Aham availed the chance and in one breath he said: “You know our friends always pine to hear me talk about different matters. They always applaud me for my knowledge. They appreciate my courage, pursuits, and aptitudes. But, I find you seldom agree with me. But, let me be frank; I always try to impress upon you; till today hardly could I succeed. But, I never hesitate to cling to my views. You may call it….pride.” He turned the jeep on to the trunk road.

Sawmya shrugged his shoulders and said: “Leave my case alone. Let me tell you one thing. All those who pine for your friendship ’re none but yes-men. It’s more appropriate to say they hanker after you more for the parties you give, the money you shell down for them, than for any real friendship. We shouldn’t be lured away by these face-praisers. Please don’t be offended if I say….”

“Then you don’t consider mine as views–I mean, valid views–at all?” asked Aham a little excited. He continued, “But, I’m confident what I believe and say isright.”

“May be, I don’t know, Aham,” his friend replied in a compromising tone. “Yet,” he added, “it’s good you’ve independent notions, however.”

“All right, leave it, and tell me this. Don’t you think begging a crime when God ’as given strength and brain to earn one’s bread?”

“Certainly not,” replied Sawmya, “the haves should give alms and help the have-nots; and the have-nots should work and pray for the welfare of all. That’s the basic pattern of social bondage in this country of ours. That’s, in fact, the keynote of our philosophy devised and taught by our Vedic sages. To be great or otherwise isn’t in our hands. There’s one guiding man’s destiny. It’s true, I believe.”

Aham laughed wildly and said, “You’re too conservative, my friend! I firmly hold and reiterate there’s nothing man can’t achieve. One must become stubborn to conquer, and swim the pool however harshly buffeted by waves. What do you say?”

“I say that’s not in our hands. It depends on one’s own luck–one’s own fate, I mean. ‘Not knowing that, we think we’re architects of our fortune and future. But, surely, time comes when our beliefs turn topsyturvy; then only we surrender to Nature.”

“Balls,” Aham retorted hotly, “ I don’t agree. These’re grandmothers’ sermons.” He paused a few seconds, gently smiled, and continued, “I pity you, my dear friend. I don’t like to see my friend grow in body and diminish in mind. That’s why I like you follow me, especially to make you breathe in inspiration out of my notions and pursuits.”

Sawmya did not like to prolong the matter and thought of putting an end to it. “Thanks,” he said smiling, “I’m much indebted to you then.”

“So listen, we’re not merely going to the’ falls’.” Assuming a sort of superiority he continued, “Tonight you’re following me to the jungle on the other side of those hills for shooting. You’ll see how much courage and skill are required to kill the wild animals.” He revealed a sort of pride in his pronunciation.

“Then why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“Lest you should abscond in the nick of the moment to start. And, my planned project to make you bold and acquire modern constructive views may fail. Isn’t it? “Aham laughed loudly leaning his head wards. And Sawmya joined him in a merry mood.

Meanwhile the jeep reached the visitors’ bungalow near the ‘falls’. They got down and walked inside the bungalow to have their wash and tiffin as prologue to their visit to the ‘falls’ situated at a distance of a mile from the bungalow.

II

The evening was pleasant, but a bit chill. And cold air was blowing across occasionally. Dark clouds were well up over the mountain tips. Cranes were flying high in the sky. Birds were playing musical notes flying from tree to tree. Here and there the chirp of a beetle was being heard.

It was a long foot-path, amid the rocky, grassy, and bushy grounds, leading to the thick forest, on which Aham and Sawmya were walking. The gun was hanging on Aham’s right shoulder with his right hand on the barrels ready to use it at any urgent moment. Sawmya was carrying a small leather bag in his left hand containing some cartridges, and a torchlight in the other. The peon was following them keeping a distance of roughly ten yards; he was carrying a big flask filled with coffee, and a water-bottle was hanging on his shoulder by its cotton strap.

As a matter of fact, Sawmya did not like to roam those places, especially to visit the jungle. He was following his friend as an unwilling schoolboy. Aham appeared to be in a mood of enjoying the natural Scenery and surroundings.

“Don’t you see everything here–the thorny bushes, the thick trees, the rocky zigzag way, the heaps of dry leaves, the chirping of the crickets–the entire place very fearful that one should avoid even for sight-seeing?” asked Sawmya all of a sudden from behind.

Aham quickly turned round and said, half-smiling with a tint of pride, looking into his friend’s eyes, “That’s why I say you’re a timid weakling.” Pointing with his hand, he continued, “See, how beautiful the surroundings are! Nature’s the one thing which gives me immense pleasure. Both the wild and calm aspects of nature please me much. ‘Twill be even more pleasant to shoot wild animals in the jungle here, you’ll see.”

“But...but people say no such wild beasts ’re here? queried Sawmya hesitatingly.

“Nonsense! Who said? I say, I shot many of them at different times; otherwise what’s the use of this gun?” he retorted knotting his eyebrows.

“Not that” Sawmya lingered and murmured, “as far as I remember...I’ve never heard of wild animals prevailing in these parts. I only say that much.”

“No, there are wild animals in this jungle, you’ll see,” he replied ardently and instructed with an authoritative voice, “come along.”

“All right,” said Sawmya and followed him.

From the heat of discussion they carne to reality, and it was getting almost dark. A strong cold wind was blowing and the tops of trees were tossing to and fro. Dry leaves were falling in large quantities.

Aham suddenly conceived amid the dry leaves in a thick bush near them some noisy movements. He shuddered; his legs tottered a bit. He stepped a few steps to the side of his friend to gain courage and his shivering hands somehow fired a bullet into the bush. Suddenly a blinding dust-storm started. They appeared to have heard a wild roar mingled with the gush of the gale. Aham fired the second bullet, in which direction he himself did not know. He pressed the trigger in vain a third time forgetting that both the bullets were released. Confusion confounded him in which unknowingly he dropped the gun. In the negligible light, they heard a terrific noise of something taking a leap from the bush into the shrubs on the other side of the path. Sawmya focussed the torch light in the direction and cried in panic: “There, there it is!” There was no response from his friend. He looked and in the light of the torch light he found Aham taking up to his heels as fast as he could and the peon was already out of sight. In utter confusion, he dropped the torchlight and the leather bag unaware and could hardly refrain from adopting his friend’s example in self-defence.

They ran as fast as they could in the darkness as if death was hanging over their heels. One knew not the whereabouts of others; at least Aham–who was a stranger to those places, in fact–did not. And he lost his way.

Meanwhile the weather took a violent turn. Dark cloud overcast the sky. It was pitch dark. A fierce gale was blowing with a terrific hum. Trees were terribly tossing. Occasionally, and there, now and then, a branch or two, or even entire were falling broken.

Aham was running swiftly like a mad fearful of his shadow. In the occasional dim light produced by the lightnings, he was looking around for his friend and peon. He was terribly perspiring notwithstanding the cold wind. As if striving against fate, he ran against the cold wind and at last could find something like an Evening Star in the darkness at a distance, slightly elevated from the ground. He paused a little and breathed a sigh of relief and hope like that of a drowning man getting hold of a helpful twig. He relaxed himself a little and walked hurriedly towards the light. His senses began to function properly, and he could realise that he was getting up a small hillock. It took no time for him for to find out that the star-like light was nothing but the flame of a small kerosene lamp fixed inside a small hut situated on the hillock.

It was a very small hut, hardly sufficient even for one to reside. The walls were mud-made, in the crudest manner, and were not white-washed; the roof was made of stout palmyra beams and bamboos thickly packed and dry palmyra leaves tightly fastened: the whole construction appeared to be one built and donated out of charity. As Aham reached the hut, big drops of an impending down-pour began to fall heavily. Those hitting the palmyra leaves of the hut began to produce a rhythmic sound. A clear voice from inside the hut invited him: “It’s raining, get in babu, lest you should be drenched.”

Bending down and pushing his head a little inside the thatched roof, he examined quickly as to who was inviting him. Identifying that it was the same dirty beggar-girl against whom he had sarcastically remarked that morning at his bungalow, he was flabbergasted a while. He recovered but shirked, for his pride of status stood as a huge hurdle preventing him from entering the wretched dwelling of a dirty beggar-girl. He withdrew his head and looked around, but it was completely dark. In the dim light available just then for a moment caused by a lightning, he could perceive that the place was lonely and that no other shelter was available nearby. His heart began to beat quickly. The inviting voice was heard again: “Don’t hesitate babu, get in.”

The rain turned severe–it came like enormously long and closely packed glass rods hitting the ground. Pride and status for a moment yielded place to a plea for self-protection and he instantaneously got in and sat on the dusty floor near the open doorway. He scarcely looked at her. He fixed his looks outside, on the violent sounds of the gale, the thunders, and the severe rain. His only concern then was, evidently, how to reach home; he sat silently lost in his thoughts for long.

“Water’s getting in; get up babu!” she shrieked, with which he came to reality to find his legs and pant already wet. He got up like a suppressed spring suddenly, released, and pushed his head out of the roof to find out the situation. By then the intensity of the rain retarded and diminished to slight drizzling. Bitterly cold wind was still blowing. He quickly went out of the hut in knee-deep water. The little sparkling light produced by the frequent lightnings enabled him to have a view of the situation. The surroundings of the hut were full of water. He could see the trees and the huge rocks below submerged in the flood waters. The roaring sounds of waters rolling down the rocky slopes of nearby hills were being distinctly heard. His heart ceased to beat a while. He quickly got inside and stood dumb unable to decide what to do.

The level of the flood waters slowly rose up, up the mud walls of the hut. She looked at him in panic. Immediate necessity urged him to seek a way to protection.

“All right,” he said, talking for the first time after he had entered the hut, “let’s get up on to the top.”So saying, he took the lead. From the roof of the hut, unhesitatingly, he helped her to get up. They sat on the roof and hardly there was a yard’s distance between the two. They sat baffled, like frightened tortoise withdrawing all limbs into the shell.

It was very chill. His clothes became wet beaten by the occasional drizzle. He could hardly withstand the biting cold and was shivering too whenever there was a strong cold blast blowing across. His eyes were red due to sleeplessness and exertion during the day. He looked askance at her. Obviously, she was panic-stricken. He observed her and her troubled face whenever there was a little lightning. Her garment too became wet by the drizzle and stuck to her body. Her youthful curves were tantalizingly visible through the crevices of her dirty, torn, and insufficient wear.

A dazzling lightning suddenly flashed followed by a heart-quelling thunder. It was so terrific that the girl shrieked loudly in a spur of horror and instantaneously, with all the speed of a flash, she clasped him firmly and remained flabbergasted. I that tight hug he felt the warmth of her body and the heat of her rapid breath somewhat comfortable to his cold-stricken self. His pride of status could hardly come in the way, and unknowingly his arms twined round the wench in close hug seeking more and more warmth.

Meanwhile the mud walls of the hut dissolved under flood waters, and the thatched roof was suddenly released floating boat-like on the water. The sudden movement gave a jolt to sailors with which his brain began to function normally. Strange thoughts crept into his mind: “This’s nasty. Tomorrow she may trumpet among the people around that the Kumar Zamindar hugged her to his bosom. What will be my prestige then?” A coldfear ran down his spine. ‘Self’ played a dominant part; instinctively on the spur of the moment he quickly detached himself, and his mighty hands did the job of pushing the poor girl violently into the wild current: from the temporary hug of Aham, Prakriti got into the eternal clasp of Prakriti.

Pride and Self did not instigate him feel for the inhuman act, and the drifting roof kept on moving. The solitary sailor stuck to thinking optimistically of his resumption to his bungalow.

Dim light began to grow around indicating the rising of the sun. But the sun was not visible and the light failed to develop beyond a particular intensity due to the thick cyclonic clouds. The water was endless as far as his eyes could see. He kept in vain constant watch all round anticipating help.

The floating structure came into the fast current of a river and took speed vigorously tossing. He had, therefore, had to hold firmly a beam of the drifting roof to escape being thrown into the water. The fiercely whirling and circling speedy current implanted terror in his heart. He saw huge branches and even entire trees drifted by the current. Now and then, dead snakes and birds, animals and human bodies, were coming carried by the current.

He was terribly hungry; his intestines coiled and grieved for food. The gush of the wild wind scorched his throat. The water at his disposal was dirty. He was so much thirsty, his intestines were so much squeezed, that he could scarcely refrain from resolving to drink even that dirty water. He stretched his hand to lift a palmful of it to his mouth. Just then he was hit on the head by the hanging branch of a tree that could not withstand the powerful current, and he had a vigorous jolt. And he had to withdraw his hand quickly to hold the beam firmly with both of his hands. He grieved and groaned in pain. Blood trickled down his jaws. Tears rolled down his cheeks like torrents. Aham was completely deprived of aham. He began to cry aloud for his fate–cried in vain for His mercy. He cried and cried and was fully exhausted. The tears in his eyes too were exhausted. As he was carried speedily by the current, dry twigs of hanging branches of trees scraped his as he lay exhausted. His shirt was torn, his skin was awfully scratched, and blood oozed profusely. A hawk or two, now and then pecked at his . But, scarcely could he move!