Fetters

JAYASHANKAR PRASAD
Translated from Hindi by R. S. VARMA

“One pice, babuji!”

I was startled to hear this; how pathetic was the voice! I saw a young boy nine or ten years old, standing, holding the stick of a blindman. “Surdas, where did you get this boy?” said I.

I thought it better to address the blindman as Surdas. The appellation signified my sincere feelings of sympathy and respect for the bereavement of the poor old man and was in no way sarcastic.

“Babuji, this is my son, the stick of the old man. With his help I can beg enough to fill my belly and also save myself from being crushed and run over,” said he.

I gave him one anna. “Ah! One anna!” The boy cried with alacrity. “Live long, O benevolent donor!” blessed the old man.

I went on reflecting that though he led such a difficult and miserable life, yet he considered it the most valuable thing. Oh, God!

Why have you been late, O Lord of the poor!

These words poured into my ears when I was going towards Dashashwamedha. This was the voice of some middle-aged person. It was full of real humility similar to that with which Tulasidas’s Vinaya Patrika is replete. A similar eagerness, a similar call for coming closer, and a similar wail of one afflicted with miseries! It melted in the haughty din and noise of the motor-horns and flowed upward in the air. I looked agape. It was the same old man! But he was alone today. Giving him something, I asked, “Why, where is your son, today?”

“Babuji, he made away with something he saved from what we begged. I don’t know where he has gone.” Tears began to flow down from those blind eyes. “Have you not searched for him?” said I. “How long has he been away?”

“People say that he has run away to Calcutta!” Raging on that impertinent boy, I moved towards the ghat. A Pundit was reciting from the sacred book there. Listening to him, I grew more indignant with that boy. I saw the smoke rising from the water-mill into the sky like a serpent.

Some months rolled by, and then, once again, I saw that old man at the crossing. The same boy stood erect holding his stick. “Why, O foolish boy, where had you run away leaving your blind father?” I asked him angrily. Smilingly he answered, “Babuji, I went in search of a job.” His dutifulness cooled down my anger. Giving him something, I advised him to serve his old father, and not to run away leaving him alone.

The old man said with alacrity, “Babuji, he cannot run away now. I have put fetters- round his feet. I looked with contempt and surprise that really his feet were fettered. The boy could move with difficulty. I said to my mind, “Oh, God! To force him to beg alms, and to fill his belly, a father can even put fetters round his own son’s feet; and, in spite of this, that naughty boy smiled. Long live this world!

I went on.

I was waiting for a gentleman with whom I had decided to go on boating. Carts, motors and tongas were running fast striking against one another as if all were in a frantic haste. I was commenting on their rashness like a philosopher. Behind a Siras tree the same voice was heard again. The old man said, “Child, don’t ask for a pice for three days more. I have asked Ramdas to make you a shirt for seven annas. The winter has set in.” But the boy lingered on saying, “No, No. Please give me two pice today. I want to eat ‘kachalu’. See it is being sold on that foot-path.” The mouth and the eyes of the boy were full of water. Unfortunately, the old man could not give him a pice. He went on refusing him; but at last the boy’s request was granted. With the pice he walked towards the other foot-path. He was manoeuvering with his fettered feet, as if he was going to win a battle.

Naveen babu was himself driving the car at a speed of 40 miles per hour. The boy fell down as the spectators gave out a scream; the crowd ran. The car vanished and the old man began to cry–where could the blind man go?

“The injury is not serious, said one.

“The wicked wretch has put fetters round his feet; otherwise he should not have been hurt.” said the other.

“Please, cut his fetters; I don’t want them,” said the old man.

I was stunned and saw that the boy’s soul had cut its fetters and flown away.