When Humanism Flowered

WHEN HUMANISM FLOWERED
Short Story

It was already nine in the night. Those meetings in the City Central Library never started on time. That day too, as usual, they started the literary meeting rather late and ended up further late. The people who attended it already started dispersing in groups of twos and threes, some in cars, some on scooters and others walked along.

I wanted to ask Bhagavathi for a lift. Her house was beyond mine. She pretended not to have seen me and drove away. I looked at the watch. It was nine-thirty. I glanced around. Not one acquaintance anywhere around.

The children would have gone to bed already, probably without food. My husband would be impatient for my not reaching home even by the time of going to bed. Not that he imposed his will on me. He was particular that I reached home before nine thirty. These were evil times, he would say.

Whenever I attended these literary gatherings, I always looked at my watch and left immediately after the main speakers finished and caught an auto or a bus. That day, I forgot to consult the watch. The speakers too held the listeners spell-bound. Nobody was aware of the passage of time. Which was rather very rare. And there I was, all alone.

I walked briskly upto the main road, where generally conveyance of some sort was available. There was no auto, not even a rickshaw anywhere within sight. Even if a rickshaw were available, I would have gone upto Narayanguda and taken a bus, though it would take some more time.

After waiting for about twenty minutes, there was one auto cruising towards me.

“Brother, Panjagutta?” I asked.

He nodded in refusal, went forward and stopped.

“These Hyderabad autodrivers are always rude!” I cursed, them. Another auto rushed past even without slowing down, followed by four others in a procession. It was nearing ten and I was restless.

Shops were downing their shutters and pedestrians were becoming scarce.

I cursed myself for having come to the meeting for the hundredth time.

Another auto slowed down.

“Panjagutta, brother!”

“Five rupees over the meter” he demanded.

There were two young men squeezed on either side of him.

“It’s O.K. But who are they?” I pointed to them.

He flagged down and said “Please get in!”

The two young fellows in the front sang along “Come, Come, please get in!”

I did not like their looks. They looked seedy. I had to reach home somehow, early.

I saw a rickshaw coming at a distance.

“Sorry. I don’t need an auto now” I said hastily.

“Why don’t you get in?” One of the two started coming towards me. They were signaling to each other. I was scared that they might drag me inside, if I persisted.

At that moment, the previous driver, who refused initially, and was watching all along, came near me.

“Madam, come on! Let us go in my auto” he said.

The youth got down from the auto and uttered an obscenity and came near him aggressively. The driver gave him a powerful push and he want reeling.

I did not hesitate any longer. I jumped in and the auto picked up speed. “Panjagutta” I said, as I wetted my parched lips.

As we sped, I heard the youths shouting and yelling at us.

The auto driver was about fifty years of age. I reckoned that he was observing all along the nuisance that was created by the youths, before he stepped in. Thank god, I would be home, inside of half an hour.
As the auto was going over the flyover he slowed down and looked . I was still sweating profusely, inspite of the cool breeze across the lake. Other vehicles were zooming past in both directions. My heart picked up courage when they approached and sank as they disappeared.

Literary meetings were my weakness, though I was not myself a writer. I never attempted even to write a letter to the Editor. I had a weakness for purchasing any new book and reading it. And not missing any literary gatherings in the city. Those meetings gave one an opportunity to get acquainted with other literary personalities and be aware of contemporary literary trends. The teacher in my school said when I was young, that hearing one good speaker was equivalent to reading ten good books. It widened one’s horizon, he said. I got immense pleasure in attending those literary gatherings.

As the auto slowed down, the train of my thoughts stopped. He was looking in anticipation, I turned my head and found the auto with the youths at a distance. My God! They were following us.

My driver shouted. “Bloody rascals” and increased the speed. There was no sound of anyone following any more. In another ten minutes the auto stopped at the entrance to the colony. My heart steadied and I was nearer home.

“Madam, you had better get down here” he said. “I would have dropped you at your house, but today, I am in a hurry. I have to go home”. He looked at the meter and said “Fifteen rupees”.

I handed him a fifty rupee note.

“Brother, you have safely brought me home and I am.......” I could not finish. He counted out the notes and returned me the balance. “You may keep the change” I said, but he did not seem to hear.

He gave a wry smile.

“Madam, I am not myself an angel. Today, before a large crowd a bully tried to kidnap my sixteen year old daughter and everyone there looked helplessly. It was an old man of seventy years that had the guts to face the bully and save my girl. In the process he was badly hurt. I got him admitted in the hospital and was going home. I waited for a fare towards the old city, when you saw me. Only today, I could grasp the real meaning of what they called human kindness. But for this incident, I would not have brought you here”.

“Please go in peace!” he said.

“Brother, those three toughs in the auto! Won’t they give you trouble? What if they chase you? Why don’t you take another route?” I was concerned about his safety.

He gave a dry laugh. “Madam, we live on the roads. If not today, tomorrow or the day after. Sometime, somewhere, I will have to face them. Our lives carry a risk always. Now, I have to go home and return to the hospital to stay for the night with that old man. Please don’t worry for me. My wife will be expecting me”.
He started his vehicle, turned round and left.

My heart was filled with a rare feeling of joy at the flowering of human kindness in that raw soul. There was also a tinge of sorrow at the prospect of harm to that good samaritan. I prayed for the old man who saved his girl and the driver who saved me from the goons.

I saw my husband approaching from a distance to receive me.

Translated from the Original Telugu by
G. Lakshmi Satyavati               
and                              
Vemaraju Narasimha Rao