A Symbolic Story

A SYMBOLIC STORYtc "A SYMBOLIC STORY"

His name is Sandip Basu.  A graduate, unemployed youngman of 25 years.  He is knocking every here and there for a job but is invariably rendered disappointed.  He resides at a mofussil area, forty Kms. away from Calcutta.  His father, the only earning member in the family, still manages it somehow but the time is turning grim everyday.  Sandip realises the situation but he has nothing to do; five years have elapsed since his name has been registered with the Employment Exchange but seldom he receives a call letter.  Hard times, dull market, still Sandip sometimes applies with reference from reliable sources.  But he is frustrated time and again.

One day, by fluke of fate, Sandip gets a call letter intimating that he has passed the written examination he appeared long – sometime he has almost forgotten now.  However, he prepares himself and appears before the interview board.  He finds there several of his ilk and comes to know that the number of vacancy is only 4 against eighty candidates selected for interview.  Fortunately, he is able to answer satisfactorily all the questions asked. And comes with a ray of hope in the mind.

Days pass on – no news as yet.  At one night, while Sandip is about to sleep, he can overhear a conversation between his parents in the next room; his father is telling his mother ‘Listen, I may be forced to retire, within a few months; get mentally prepared for the days to come’.
“My God, is it?  But why?”
“It’s the policy of the management to introduce V.R.S. with Golden Handshake”.
“What’s that?”
“They will give me a lumpsum in full and final settlement of whatever due, and then good – bye”!
“But there ought to be a reason behind, atleast they should consider the eligibility of your son, isn’t it?”
“No, it does not happen like that.”
“Will you, I mean your Union, not move against such a decision?”

“Gone are those days! Now we are all spineless millipede.  Once our Union plunged headlong to thwart computerisation but now not only our leaders but many of us have agreed.  It is the age of globalisation, computer is in full swing and we have got to accept it.”

“I can’t follow that much; but so far you have told me about class struggle, that the toiling mass will win one day and now you people have turned apathetic to Trade Union movement.  In fact, you are incapable of raising your voice against injustice.”

“You see, time is changing.  And in reality he who gets the power misuses it.  A time was when people used to say ‘God never sends mouths but he sends meat’; but now  a days, the mouths are increasing so alarmingly in number that God too seems helpless, Isn’t it?  Moreover, staff curtailment has become a norm of the day, everywhere.  That’s the destiny!”

Sandip is now sleeping.  He is engrossed in a dream.  And he dreams of a situation: Economic crises together with unprecedented devaluation of Rupee has reached the climax.  Numberless people, irrespective of class, caste, creed and religion have assembled in a very large procession.  Everyone is holding a flag which is surprisingly dabbed in all the colours – red, green, saffron with all the political party symbols embossed on it. The procession is quite a long but more interesting is the tone of the slogans raised – not in demand for wage increase or against price rise or anything like that.  They are demanding “we want full meal against our service” and “We want shelter, security and medicine against our work”.

But what is the destination? Sandip joins the procession and finds that the procession, moving in a circular way comes to where from it starts and this process goes on.  To his surprise, he finds all the well-known representatives of the people like M.P.s, M.L.A.s and even ministers have joined the procession. But why? Sandip eagerly asks one and comes to know that high society people too are facing the same crisis; for Rupee is no more acceptable as medium of exchange, late alone bribe. Even gold, land and building are not that attractive as before.  So the leaders too are facing today the same consequence as the mass faced yesterday. Because there is money but no food. There is production in factory but no demand.  Population has increased but not land.  Virtually, all are moving in the same direction and there is nobody to be addressed, to lodge complaint against because they all have become one with the pandemonium.

The dream breaks – its 4 a.m.  Sandip can’t sleep anymore.  He gets upto take a glass of water – thirsty and tense, he finishes it at once.    From the book-self in front, it seems, the book entitled “Crisis of Capitalism” is laughing at him. Normally, he does not rise at such early hours in the morning.  He comes to the balcony adjacent to his room.  The wavy breeze, the chirping birds, the morning sun opening itself up before the benign blue sky are likely to offer a resourceful view of life, a different message of the day ; but then, what has he seen last night ?

Sandip divulges the entire story to his mother. His mother who is’not-so-mod’ is but free from superstition as well.  She consoles her son “I think you didn’t have a sound sleep last night.  It’s the effect of indigestion that you are belching out all these bickerings.  Do one thing – write all these on a white paper, fold the same and then throw it into the pond by the side of our house. You will be mentally free”.

Written up, Sandip proceeds towards the pond but, to his utter dismay, finds all the fishes, overturned towards the sky, are lying dead on the surface water.  Someone mischievous might have done the odd – has spread poisonous “Follidol” to spoil the entire pond water. Let down beyond measure, he stands there like a mute animal tied to fate. A voice sounds mocking to his ears – it’s his school mate Bipin’s – “Hellow Sandip, what are you doing here so early in the morning”?
“Just taking fresh air”.
“Is it? But I find the fishes are turned towards you or just the opposite”.  His comment again rings mockery.  Bipin passes off.  Sandip thinks ‘Had your father not died, your position today would have been worse than that of mine’. Yes, it was a ‘died in harness’ case that Bipin got a secured job in a Government Office. Sandip comes . That piece of paper remains in his pocket.

It’s noon.  Sandip is restless at his bed.  A knock on the door –

“It’s post man”.  He jumps up and rushes though he knows it very well that nothing but Electricity Bill is what the postman brings them every month. But no, this time it is something different dropped on the floor.  An envelope with the lines inscribed at a corner “If not delivered, please return it to…”  Very carefully Sandip opens it.  It’s regret letter.  Keeping it aside, he brings out of his pocket the piece of paper containing his dream – materials to pour it into another envelope, writes the name and address of the sender and closes the envelope.  But the chapter is not closed here.

Next morning he burns the regret letter addressed to him, gets its black residue, and then mixes it up with a bit of ‘Dalda Ghee’. The paste is now ready and he keeps it in a small plastic box.  Gets ready to start for Calcutta.  On his way, purchases a three rupee stamp from the local Post Office to stick the same on the envelope, addressed to wherefrom the regret letter came yesterday, and drops it into the Post Box.

Now he reaches the Employment Exchange Office which helped him to get the call letter.  He finds the adjoining area crowded by numberless unemployed youth. There are three lines meant for the undergraduates, the graduate and the post-graduate respectively to get their names registered.  He himself being a graduate stands before the graduates, and bringing out the small plastic box from the pocket, starts saying:

“Attention please, all you – my brothers and sisters – who have gathered here for getting your names registered with this Employment Exchange are, no doubt, expecting a job-opportunity.  On this auspicious day of your life, please allow me to put on your forehead the symbol of a sacred paste, made of such materials as I have secured after having waited and whetted myself for quite a long time.  This paste is something the like of which is usually offered after performing the Vedic rites under the Hindu religion. It’s sacred indeed and that’s why I appeal to your goodself not to object to what I do” – saying this, Sandip proceeds to mark the paste on the forehead of everyone standing in the queue.
Nobody raises objection because nobody knows what it actually is!