DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.22460#0237
May 17, iyf>;i
Seven
lkimalmjan ^in«ca
(if insinuations to some harmless, drunken
rantings. Or so I think, until i receive
a summons from court.
On the morning of thb appointed
day, 1 start off before even the dogs
are about. By ten I am at tie court
premises, which appear glum and deserted,
l’eoplo start trickling in little by little;
soon the building is livelier than a bee-
hive at midday. 1 sit outside in the
sun, trying to think of my cow. I try
to appear bored and casual, but my
heart is beating faster than a zahri's
drum. The complainant arrives with the
old couple, who are his witnesses. We
exchange glarejr.
Towards noon I begin to feel rest-
less and hungry. I have not been called
for. Nor would I know where to go
should 1 be called.. There are so* many
rooms .and so many people, that I give
up speculating after a time. I figure I
have time enough to._go.dowp tp the
bazaar and, perhaps, snatch a. snack.
It happens, as it usually does, that 1
am called just after I leave Unconscious
of (he ehaprassi's: ‘Hazir hail' I am
gulping down'll six-annas tod: in a tea-
shop. When 1 finally return, 1 hav°
become an ‘absconder’; I may not leave
unless I can produce a surety. The
date, I am told, has been postponed
because of my non-attendance. The
complainant is there behind a smile
dripping with insituiative derision Given
half a chance. 1 could choke those grin-
ning tooth down that goilred gullet.
Propped up against the wall, 1 sit
on the cement lloor till closing up time.
1 am spared the ignominy of being
actually locked up. The Court Balm
asks me :
“Do you own any land, any
property ?’’
“Yes, Ha/.oor",. 1 answer eagerly,
“I have an expectant cow. I also liE^ye
a wife.”
He gives up in disgust and tries
a new approach. He asks me. if I know
any person who is willing to stand
guarantee for me. I am about to tell
him that I know no such one, but,
then, someone materialises at my elbow
and whispers ominously i
‘If you cannot produce anyone,
you will be locked up in jail. Give me.
five rupees ,and I’ll do the needful.”
He touches just the raw Bpot. It
is a great disgrace to be locked up in
jail How can I ever show ..my face
again in my ■ village .? Besides, there is
iny expectant cow. The -five rupees
change pockets. Outside, my self-appoin-
ted ‘saviour’ tells me that I must come
again on thy 20th. “The count against
you is -nothing, I’ll see you through.
But, be sure and bring sonie money
next time.” I do hot know what exaotly
he means by some money’; the way he
sjiys it makes hie feel uncomfortable.
“But T have no money!’ I protest,
lie gives me a pained look, as if lam
not realising how far lie is sticking his
neck out for me. His expression plainly
says; Well, you know what might happen
if you don’t?’
The next time I am taking no
chances 1 have brought along some dry,
buckwheat pancakes (?) and a little toina-
toe chutney, wrapped up in a loaf.
Sitting in the shade of a cryptomeria
I nartake of my noontime ropast. Inside
niv pocket I have thirty rupees, the
sale price of niv two little • pigs.—my
wife will have to do without the new
ornament for her nose, for the time
being. Soon niv ‘saviour’ conies along
with a sheaf of papers in his hands,
lie seems in a great hurry, as if every
minute is precious. He Mips through
the papers and asks me for five rupees.
Tropic Proof Darjeeling Radio Co.
Seven
lkimalmjan ^in«ca
(if insinuations to some harmless, drunken
rantings. Or so I think, until i receive
a summons from court.
On the morning of thb appointed
day, 1 start off before even the dogs
are about. By ten I am at tie court
premises, which appear glum and deserted,
l’eoplo start trickling in little by little;
soon the building is livelier than a bee-
hive at midday. 1 sit outside in the
sun, trying to think of my cow. I try
to appear bored and casual, but my
heart is beating faster than a zahri's
drum. The complainant arrives with the
old couple, who are his witnesses. We
exchange glarejr.
Towards noon I begin to feel rest-
less and hungry. I have not been called
for. Nor would I know where to go
should 1 be called.. There are so* many
rooms .and so many people, that I give
up speculating after a time. I figure I
have time enough to._go.dowp tp the
bazaar and, perhaps, snatch a. snack.
It happens, as it usually does, that 1
am called just after I leave Unconscious
of (he ehaprassi's: ‘Hazir hail' I am
gulping down'll six-annas tod: in a tea-
shop. When 1 finally return, 1 hav°
become an ‘absconder’; I may not leave
unless I can produce a surety. The
date, I am told, has been postponed
because of my non-attendance. The
complainant is there behind a smile
dripping with insituiative derision Given
half a chance. 1 could choke those grin-
ning tooth down that goilred gullet.
Propped up against the wall, 1 sit
on the cement lloor till closing up time.
1 am spared the ignominy of being
actually locked up. The Court Balm
asks me :
“Do you own any land, any
property ?’’
“Yes, Ha/.oor",. 1 answer eagerly,
“I have an expectant cow. I also liE^ye
a wife.”
He gives up in disgust and tries
a new approach. He asks me. if I know
any person who is willing to stand
guarantee for me. I am about to tell
him that I know no such one, but,
then, someone materialises at my elbow
and whispers ominously i
‘If you cannot produce anyone,
you will be locked up in jail. Give me.
five rupees ,and I’ll do the needful.”
He touches just the raw Bpot. It
is a great disgrace to be locked up in
jail How can I ever show ..my face
again in my ■ village .? Besides, there is
iny expectant cow. The -five rupees
change pockets. Outside, my self-appoin-
ted ‘saviour’ tells me that I must come
again on thy 20th. “The count against
you is -nothing, I’ll see you through.
But, be sure and bring sonie money
next time.” I do hot know what exaotly
he means by some money’; the way he
sjiys it makes hie feel uncomfortable.
“But T have no money!’ I protest,
lie gives me a pained look, as if lam
not realising how far lie is sticking his
neck out for me. His expression plainly
says; Well, you know what might happen
if you don’t?’
The next time I am taking no
chances 1 have brought along some dry,
buckwheat pancakes (?) and a little toina-
toe chutney, wrapped up in a loaf.
Sitting in the shade of a cryptomeria
I nartake of my noontime ropast. Inside
niv pocket I have thirty rupees, the
sale price of niv two little • pigs.—my
wife will have to do without the new
ornament for her nose, for the time
being. Soon niv ‘saviour’ conies along
with a sheaf of papers in his hands,
lie seems in a great hurry, as if every
minute is precious. He Mips through
the papers and asks me for five rupees.
Tropic Proof Darjeeling Radio Co.