SHORT STORY – OUR FARM HOUSE
My wife had gone inside the Vadakkunnatha temple of lord Shiva in the centre of the town, originally called Thrissivaperur. The Englishmen called it Trichur, for convenience.I don’t think there is a town, more lovely than my Trichur, majestically rising above the surrounding land, for miles, and Shiva overseeing the area like a sentinel. The temple with its massive walls and the spacious ground beyond, is surronded by the ring of shops, similar to the man- made Connaught circle in New Delhi. Did the Irishman see Trichur first, and then make its replica in the waste land it was, when it was decided to make Delhi the capital of the Government of India , as Calcutta is far away from the Gateway of India, Bombay?
Such were my thoughts, when a young man stood before me, pleading for some money, as he had nothing to eat, the last twenty four hours. How long had he remained there, I do not know. He did not look like a professional beggar. In fact his face is not bad to loook at, rather fascinating I must admit, not a Keralite any way, and I was weighing the consequences of my refusal to oblige him. What if I were in his situation? I had borrowed money, never stolen it, with no promise of return. Can I forget my past?
When my wife came out from the temple, we were silently facing each other.
Who is he?
I don’t know. He has not eaten food, since long, he says.
She took out a rupee note and was about to give it to him, when I intervened. Come boy, I will give you work, I said.
I ignored my wife’s silent protest. We all came back to our house, not far from the town, in a picturesque village farm. I ordered my wife to give him enough food. Afterwards, I took him around the farm house and directed him to cut out all the bush on one side where I intended to plant the big banana trees.
He was quite strong but not used to such work, I could see. In the night, he slept in the open veranda in the south side of the house.
Next day and the next, this routine followed. I did not give him his wages, but noted it in my accounts book.
After a week, I asked: do you wish to continue or, you want to go? He said he wanted to stay. I told him he is entitled for one hundred and fifty rupees as wages and his food shall be free. He did not say anything.
My friends congratulated me for getting such a slave, when they were hard pressed for far farm labour. One day, when he finds a chance, he would run away with whatever he can carry, they warned. I shook my head.
My wife was happy. She could use his free time for helping her in the kitchen, shopping or simply as escort, as she never liked to go out alone. They started calling the boy our son. We had no issues and, at heart, I was not averse to adopting him. Of coure, I did not mention it to her.
Time passed quickly. She purchased cloths for him so that she need not feel ashamed of his company. The women folk liked his gentle, silent ways. Who would not like a slave? Some were prepared for considering him as a prospective bridegroom even.
My wife is an expert farmer, and under her direction and, with the hard work of the boy, our farm, a perfect organic farm, measuring around five acres, became the envy of the neighbours and my friends! We bought several cows, hens and ducks ( there were several ponds in our farm) and we bought a motor bike for carrying our products to the market. I did not know how to ride one, so we never had it.
In the privacy of our bed room, we would discuss about him, as we did not want him to hear our conversation.
She: he is so obedient, efficient and hard working.
I: he never smiles, never opens his mouth.
That is his nature. You are always talking and laughing so loud. Sometimes disgusting.
So now you care for him more. Remember that I brought him here, not you.
That is the end of the debate. She turned and pretended to be asleep. I could not. Why is he hiding his past?
Should I inform the police?
Will not they question me, if something happens?
I showed him his account from time to time. There was only credit entry in it. The amount increased considerably, but I never opened a bank account in his name.
Our maid servant has a daughter, who used to come often with her mother. One day I saw her well groomed and was taken aback. She is really very sweet, I thought, well proportioned and agile.
Her mother wanted to consider her marriage with our boy.
As always, I grumbled. Without knowing his background?
As always, my objection was over-ruled.
Preparations were made for the marriage. What shall I say in the invitation letter? Our son’s marriage? We decided to verbally tell only our friends.
In the meanwhile, we had to go to attend a marriage. The boy asked for Rs. 100, and I gave it, without questioning why he wanted money, telling him to look after the farm till we returned, as usual.
He did everything, including sale of the farm producs, the money put in a box as was the custom,till the evening before we came. He did not take a single rupee from it.
When we returned, he had diappeared, taking only the small bundle he had with him, when he first came to us.
