Bandopanth & Bus Ticket

Short Story

BANDOPANTH AND BUS TICKET
(Original Marathi story by Dr. Gangadhar Gadgil)

Translated by Vemaraju Narasimha Rao

A Bombayite usually either buys a ticket while going in a bus or travels without one. Whichever way you look at it, it is not a very commendable activity. If a gentleman has an intention of buying a ticket, he would, immediately on hearing the khat, khat sound from the conductor, put a coin in his hand without even looking at him or would turn his head in the direction of someone who would take his ticket also. He would mumble something if he still has an inclination. Satisfied that he had done his duty, he would then indulge in small talk with the man next to him or turn over the page of the newspaper or reverse it and continue reading it.

The man who has no intention of buying one, would point out to the folded ticket tucked under his watch-strap. Or would give an expression that he already has one. If not, he would strike a pose that he was lost in reading and did not hear the punching machine’s sound or that he was deeply engrossed in the appreciation of nature’s beauty. No Bombayite is conscious that this is happening, as it is done so naturally and effortlessly.

Bandu - Bandopanth, to be precise - had the same experience for many years. And would have had the same for some more years, but for an incident on that day.

That day -­

He was under the wrong impression that he bought a ticket that was under his watch-strap. He completed the journey and was about to get down the bus. When the checking inspector caught him by the neck and stopped him. Bandu freed himself with a jerk and roared, “Bewakoof, kya hai?”

One of the abuses mastered by Bandu in the national language was bewakoof and one of the two or three non-­abuses was kya hai.

The inspector caught hold of his neck again.

“Show me your ticket, first”.

Bandu pulled himself up “Oh, that one. You could have told me so!”

The inspector did not abandon his refrain. “Show me your ticket”.

He did not let go his neck from out of his paw.

Bandu took out the ticket from under his watch and put it in his hand, and struggled himself free.

“Leave me alone, man. It is getting late for the office”.

The inspector barred his movement with his hand. “Wait, don’t go”.

Bandu got angry because of the pain in his neck. Luscious abuses in Hindi were taking shape in his mind. The inspector unfolded the ticket and declared, “This is not valid”.

Bandu was taken a. “Why not?”

The inspector, who had neither the intention nor the leisure to answer all his queries, produced his pencil and said

“Take out two rupees”.

He glanced at the other passengers meaningfully to say, “Look at this fellow!”

They smiled in return mildly, even without opening their lips. Translated in plain language, it meant “This suit and boot fellow appears like a dacoit”.

Bandu could understood the plain language and was really sorry. He then remembered that he did not buy a ticket that day and decided that the best course was to bluff his way out of the situation. He also decided that Hindi was no longer effective to express his indignation and switched over to English.

“Why should I pay fine? I just forgot. I will pay only the fare”.

“Yes, yes, you forgot, didn’t you? That’s why you will have to pay the fine”. The inspector shook his pencil again.

The other commuters in the bus were increasingly becoming restless. One of them advised, “Say, throw the two rupees on him and be done with it, Man”.

Others sighed in helplessness. “What a hard nut to crack!”

Some others looked at the sky with vacant looks that such a calamity should have befallen them. A few of them waved their kerchiefs to circulate the stagnant air in the bus. Several of them were commenting, each in a different way, on the meanness of the man who cheated for a mere two annas.¹ A few others gave Bandu a look as they would to dismiss a beggar.

Two naughty boys passing that way booed in his ear “Hooh”. Provoked, Bandu tried to run after them, but was stopped Bandu could understand the plain by Saindhava in the guise of the inspector.

“Please pay the money and go”

Bandu was overcome by his anger and lambasted him in English “Look, your company is going too far and you do not know how to distinguish the good from the bad. Did I start riding the bus today? I have not forgotten to buy a ticket, even once in all these ten years I have been travelling by this bus. Unfortunately, if I forget to buy one due to forgetfulness, do I appear to you like a thief? You should know that I work for the world renowned KU-SU Bank! I will file a case against you and drag the company to the Court. I won’t leave the matter till it foes to the High Court, mind you!”

None of the other passengers had the patience to reach his level of thinking or examine the pros and cons of his argument and support him. To cap it all, they stuck out their necks from the windows as if some monkey was on show. Bandu realised that his bravado was not going to cut ice and cooled down. Also because of the gasping for breath which anyone would experience after such a powerful peroration.

It was then the turn of the inspector to get angry.

“Are you paying or not? Or shall I take you to police station?”

Just then, on seeing the assembled crowd, a policemen entered the scene. He drove away the kids, shoved the adults aside and coming forward, enquired, “What is the matter here?”

Bandu was farsighted enough to understand that the arm that was going to fall on his neck next would be the strong one of the policeman. He accepted defeat and flaunted two rupees in the inspector’s face and said.

            “Accha, Take this money”.

He packed in that word Accha all his contempt and meant “I know what a mean swine you are!”

The inspector, who was accustomed to such incidents every day was unmindful of it and shook his pencil and asked, “Your name, Please?”

The policeman put his hand on Bandu’s shoulder and in a clearly strange voice began explaining; in the national language in such a manner and in such a great detail that Bandu shouted, “God, I can understand that much!”, and rolled out his name, address and other particulars and asked the inspector, who was writing down all that, “Is that, all? Or anything left? Is     everything over now?” Unperturbed, the inspector thrust the receipt into Bandu’s hand and answered in a mono-syllable. “Yes”, and got into the moving bus and disappeared.

As Bandu set his ruffled hair and started walking, four or five children ran past him shouting in gay abandon. After they had gone, Arvind Phadke, his colleague, asked him sarcastically, “What man, Bandopanth! You got the increment, only the day before yesterday, and are your pockets already empty? You are cheating for two annas!”

Another colleague of his, Nandini, walking beside him, twitched her nose and grinned. Bandu felt like a cockroach flattened under a bus tyre.

Bandu’s ego was hurt by this incident. His dispassionate outlook on the world was blurred like a pair of spectacles with a broken arm. Self confidence was increasingly becoming difficult to gain. He started getting strange and wild ideas-that his shirt front was inside out, that a pimple suddenly grew on his nose, and the like - ­crowded his mind. All the incidents in which he was previously embarrassed, since childhood, forgotten by him long vividly started coming to his mind. He felt suffocated as if he was shut by some record clerk, in a file of Nineteen Hundred and Forty Eight, in the year of our Lord, and with a great effort he repeatedly overcame the urge to splash ink on everyone he came across.

All the travails, an ordinary citizen would face during the course of a daily bus journey, passed through his mind. His mind was fixed on an overturned bus, with wheels sticking out on the top like the legs of a dead rat. And many more scenes flashed across his mind’s eye. He boarded a bus, which was moving, and hung on to the outside like the fruit on a palm tree, not knowing when he would fall. As he heaved in with a great effort, there was a sudden jolt and he was hurtled over the legs of a young girl. The high-heeled sandal of that brave girl danced on his . On the top of it, a brave Jawan kicked him with his army boot. Boy, those were the hits! Before those kicks, the hits of the high-­heeled shoes paled into insignificance. Unable to bear the pain, he cried aloud. He broke the emergency exit and jumped on to the street.

Bandu shook himself out of the reverie, with great difficulty. However much he would try, he could not get rid of the pestering thoughts of the bus ride from out of his mind. Then, another thought.

He entered the bus in style with a hundred rupee note in his pocket. As soon as the conductor came near, he put it in his hand and asked, “Ticket”. The conductor put it in his pocket and said, “Where’s the money?”

Bandu was surprised. “I gave you already, didn’t I?”

The conductor was also surprised. He pointed Bandu to other passengers and said, “What a queer man!”

Bandu was overcome with indignation. “Look, don’t act toosmart, Man!

You took a hundred rupee note from me and you deny that? Badmash!” And he took, hold of the conductor’s collar.

But the other commuters were amused.

“He says, he gave me a hundred rupee note! Look at the face! He gives a hundred rupee note for a two annas ticket. Even a bluff should be believable!”

Bandu shouted. “Hear me! Search his pockets!”

A huge Parsi then stood up.

“This man is a downright scoundrel! He was caught earlier without a ticket. Now these falsehoods! What are you looking at? Call the police!” he said.

The conductor nodded in approval that it was an excellent idea. The owner of a kindly soul advised him, “Son! Calmly get down the bus and get lost. Otherwise, you will be counting the bars of the jail gate, for nothing!”

Bandu got down the bus without opening his mouth. His long and dishevelled hair fell on his face.

My God! What a frightening journey! The most commonplace bus travel. Thousands travelled by bus every day. But the moment Bandu got in, one calamity after the other occurred. Indeed God’s ways were strange. Even after all that, Bandu had another day dream, that he was getting into a bus.

Bandu was crazy with his wild dreams. He tried to hit his head with the paper weight. Widening his shirt collar, he tried to strangulate himself. Finally, he came to a decision and rose for cup of tea. What else could an ordinarily clerk do to cool down his nerves?

He convinced himself that he was not getting into the bus as he had some shopping to do, and walked his way . When he reached home, Snehalatha bragged before him.

“Shall I tell you, what? I had been to Dadar today. On my way , the conductor did not ask me for a ticket upto Opera House! Had a free ride, Courtesy, the bus company!”

On hearing that, he flared up. “Look, Snehalatha! Let me tell you! Your habits are getting atrocious day by day. You purchase sugar in the black market in the grocery shop.  You hoodwink the controls and get black market rice. And you travel without a ticket!”

“What ‘is’ wrong with that? Everyone does it!’” Snehalatha dismissed her husband_s accusations.

“Those who do that are asses, I tell you again. Don’t do these things. It is immoral and illegal!”

“Oh, a Daniel has come to judgement!”, she sneered.

“You will know what it is when you are caught without a ticket next time” Bandu was vehement.

“Shall I tell you what? The condu­ctor does not demand tickets from ladies. Still, before I get down the bus, I look out carefully if any inspector is around. You know that?”, she boasted.

“Look, these inspectors are a dangerous lot. They hover around somewhere and pop out suddenly and demand to see your ticket. You had better check the over-confidence on your cheating ability and make it a habit to have a ticket while you travel”, he persuaded her.

She shook her head and it was evident that his advice had not got into her ears. His heart was heavy at the sight of his doomed wife. Still he gave her a piece of friendly advice.

“I know you don’t care for my advice. But, a word of caution! If you are caught, shut your mouth and pay the fine. Don’t ever get into all argument with the inspector. If you do, there is going to be entertainment for other passengers”.

“Do you think I am crazy to enter into an argument with the inspector? Am I that mad?” She clearly pointed out that he was talking irrationally. Bandu grew angry and raised his voice.

“Don’t argue like an idiot! Several more intelligent persons than you work themselves out in such circumstances.”

“That’s all right! Why are you getting excited about a minor thing? Have you been caught by the inspector today?” She asked mischievously.

He put on a borrowed smile.

“Woman, it is not that easy! An inspector that could catch Bandu is yet to be born! Arvind Phadke, you know him, don’t you! - He was caught today without a ticket. A vain and boastful fellow. I advised him, ‘Stupid, stop talking, and pay the fine’. Wise words fall on deaf years. To top it, he entered into an argument. Serves him right!”

Snehalatha grew suspicious at her husband’s behaviour, and gave him a knowing look from top to toe. There was something in that look that blew the foundations and cracked the walls of his confidence. He quickly put a dry smile and continued hastily. “And funny, he tells everyone that I was caught - See, that is his ilk. Ram, Ram! This is Kaliyug!”

Till then, Snehalatha was merely, suspicious. But then, her suspicions were confirmed.

“Look, keep off from such matters: concerning others. You should never travel without a ticket. As soon as you get in, buy a ticket, and put it under the strap and promptly produce it for checking. If unfortunately you haven’t purchased one or have lost it, pay two rupees without murmur and get out of the mess. Don’t engage yourself in useless arguments and provide entertainment to the passers by”, she said.

Bandu always had a high regard for Snehalatha’s intelligence. But on hearing this advice, his head reeled. When he gave her this very advice, she spurned it. And now she was telling as if she discovered something new. She was not aware of the incongruity in what she said. Bandu realised that, but he was hesitant to speak.

When he finally steeled himself to tell her, she fumed, “How many times do I have to tell you not to stand leaning on the wall? And not to dangle your kerchief from out of your pocket?”

Bandu’s brave front gave in at her attack

Hot, burning words came to his lips, but got dowsed immediately. It was of course not the first time for him to lose an argument with his wife. As if that humiliation were not enough, she put before him a plate of alu - poha, prepared with the illegal and immoral rice purchased by her, which she knew he could not resist. Was that not rubbing salt into the wound?

By the next morning he got out of his inferiority complex and realised that there was nothing between him and the cockroach flattened under the tyre. In front of the mirror of the dressing table, he exhaled and gave a contented look at his chest. To be sure that he was active and agile, he whistled and jumped up and down in that little room. In the process, his toe hit the leg of a chair, but he continued his dancing on the other leg, soothing the hurt one. Trying to snatch the necktie from the hanger, he missed it and hit the wall instead. In sheer self-defence, Snehalatha kept herself aloof from all that.

After the meals, he hurriedly dressed himself and when he pulled the tie hard, the tail end appeared longer than the other one and he had to tuck it inside his pant. As the knot was not properly tied, his leg was coming out of the shoe often as he walked. She stopped her husband who forgot to take the wallet and asked, “Aren’t you combing your hair?”

Bandu flared up. “You are telling me now? You could have told me earlier!”

Snehalatha murmured. “Surpri­sing that one does not remember to comb one’s hair. Some one else has to point it out!”

He did not react to these words. He hastily did his hair, resulting in its getting disorderly and he looked like a pint sized in. There was no end to Snehalatha’s giggling at his plight.

“You look great! Go to the office like this!” She gave an unsolicited advice. A disgusted Bandu furiously combed his hair, threw the comb and got into the street.

Bandu’s confidence, no doubt, waned a little, because of that farce. But he did not feel like the c.f.t. On the other hand his enthusiasm surged forth as he saw a bus at the stop and he ran towards it though his shoe slipped frequently and boarded the moving bus. With a sense of victory, he looked around for a vacant seat and he caught the eye of the conductor, who promptly blew the whistle and brought the bus to a halt.

“Getdown, quick”. He ordered tersely.

Bandu produced a smile and spread it across his face and brushed it lightly. He pleaded, “Let me in, please! Only one!”

But the conductor, who was a strong believer of every one coming in the que said, “Enough. Get down”, and put him down.

He returned to the stop and searched for the end of the que, which appeared more like the tail of Sri Hanumanji, and found it in the near by lane. In about two minutes time, the two
Parsi women standing before him, not only allowed eight other Parsi men to join the que in front of them, but also started inviting every Parsi going that way into it. Though it was getting late for him, to get into the bus and reach his office, he had to silently suffer that immoral and illegal action. With his long stay in Bombay, he learnt that nothing could he gained by entering into a quarrel with either Parsi women or the fisherwomen.

By the time he got into the bus, he could easily understand the similarities between him and the cockroach f. t. His hair started falling over his face. His confidence touched the bottom line. The shine on his dress and the well-ironed creases disappeared. He realised that he could travel only with the courtesy of the busmen. He was also convinced that once in the bus, the conductor could throw him out by the emergency exit at any time.

Bandu shrank into a seat. He folded his hands so that the Parsi by his side could sit comfortably. Even then his forearm dug into the side of the Parsi, who glowered at him through his half-lenses Bandu mumbled “Sorry, Sorry!” and shrank further.

He then took a quarter rupee coin into his hand and eagerly waited for the conductor, who was punching tickets in the front. When one of them tendered a five rupee note, he lectured to him about the rules of the company for a couple of minutes, took out the small change from his coat pocket and showed him and went to the rear of the bus, took change from the conductor on the road, and returned brushing Bandu’s shoulder in both directions. But he did not condescend to look at the coin offered reverentially by him.

Then there was an argument whether a child should have a half ticket or a full one. Meantime, the next stop arrived. The conductor quickly got to the rear, and as was in vogue in Bombay, counted the vacant seats and announcing loudly, allowed that many passengers in. He went to the front of the bus, brushing his shoulder again.

This time, Bandu carefully held the coin in his palm as if offering it in supplication. He put out his hand and tried to catch the conductor’s coat tail. And in that effort, he got a jolt and the coin rolled sway on to the floor. The conductor did not even notice it and it was of course his moral responsibility to find it.

As he bent to search for it, the Parsi next to him commented disapprovingly “What nuisance, man!” The husband seated in front him looked at, his wife and said with a smile, “The man must have just got down the bus from Konkan”. She smiled at him appreciating her husband’s capacity in appraising men, and turned to see the Konkan villager.

Though Bandu felt flat, he did not flinch in his determination to buy a ticket. He decided that he had to resort to guerilla tactics and strike the enemy unawares. He dosed his fist with the coin and put in inside his pocket to show that he had no intention of buying a ticket. But he kept a watchful eye on the conductor and as he neared him punching tickets to others, his heart was heavy.

The next stop arrived meanwhile. The conductor went to the rear in a hurry and loudly announced the number of vacant seats, and got into an argument. In the hurry to punch tickets to the passengers in his front, he rushed by.

Bandu’s courage melted away. It ­was no more possible for him to pretend non-chalance. He felt like kicking the passengers in front of him. He felt like having been imprisoned in an underground cell. He dreamt of snatching the punching machine from the conductor’s hand and distributing tickets free to everyone.

Bandu’s stop was getting nearer. When at last the conductor came and stood near him, he felt happy as a pet dog would jump to receive the biscuit from his master’s hand. With a great effort he suppressed his happiness and prevented it from showing on his lips. But the conductor leaned against his seat, and began issuing tickets to others. There was a loud argument as to when a passenger boarded the bus. There were shouts and counter shouts. His nerves were tout. A stage had come when he might swallow the coin at any moment. Bandu thought he shouted at the conductor. But nobody appeared to have heard it­.

In the end, it was a decisive win for the conductor. He exhibited his pleasure with a grin and glanced around for approval at the rest of the passengers. Bandu immediately reciprocated it and thrust the coin, warm in his hand, towards him.

But the conductor’s eye did not catch it. Pointing to the man who argued with him, he said, “Look, what a man to tackle with, early in the morning!” and went two rows to the rear to issue tickets.

Bandu was dispirited. He decided that it would lead him nowhere unless he ­came out and did something. He got up from his seat and called the conductor “Shh, Shh” - All the heads turned not knowing whom he was calling. All eyes, including the conductor’s, fell on him. With so many eyes fixed on him, he felt weak in his legs and sat down, crestfallen. The conductor, satisfied of having completed his chore, entered into small talk with his friend.

Bandu by then lost all hopes of having a ticket. He dropped the coin into his pocket and like a flattened cockroach closed his mouth. And his stop arrived.

Bandu remembered the incident on the previous day and was in a fix. He saw the conductor engaged deeply in conversation and heaved a sigh. A bright idea struck him. Ignoring the protestations of the Parsi, he bent over him and looked out of the window. The checking inspector was nowhere around. Deciding that that was the time, he rushed towards the exit ­when the conductor grew suspicious and stopped his talk and asked him.

“Have you taken the ticket?”

Bandu shook his head and said defiantly, “No!”

The conductor flared up. He was sarcastic about the gentlemen in suits and boots who cheated for mere two annas.

An old passenger already commented, “This is the younger generation!”

A villager in dhoti said to another dhotiwala. “We the villagers are several times better than these suit-boot cheats”. There were discussions of very high order on the declining moral standards in the country.

Bandu was in such a state that he might break into tears at any time. Still he recounted all his efforts at buying a ticket including his thrusting the coin towards the conductor. But the conductor refused to accept, and threw a challenge at the passengers - “How many times did I not go from one end to the other? How can this coin escape my attention, if offered, even once?” As there was no reply, he declared, “No ticketless man can escape my eye! I tell you”.

Bandu had to keep his mouth shut and accept defeat. He took out the coin and put it in the conductor’s hand, but lacked the nerve to demand a ticket. Which conductor would lose an opportunity of pocketing two annas? He put it in his pocket and went to the rear shouting. loudly.

“Thank God, I am safe”, Bandu thought. As he alighted from the bus, and was about to step on the road, there was the stern voice of the checking inspector.

“Ticket, please!”

Hindi Translation: Vilas Githe
Telugu Translation: M.B.S. Prasad

¹ One eighth of a rupee (Roughly 12 paise)