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Short Short Stories (English)
"Have pity, Sahuji"
"Hey, Dhane, stop him. Stop him at once,"
shouted the shopkeeper on seeing a small boy staggering under a
huge load upto his shop. "How can such a small boy carry these
loads? I will not have it."
Hearing the shopkeeper scream, the young boy lowered his burden
and, not knowing what to do, began wiping his face with his cap.
Jamane, who had been following, also heard the rebuke, he eased
his own load onto the ground and came puto the small boy and asked,
"What are you going to do now, Lale?"
"I don't know. You tell me what I should do. Mother cannot
go to work before purifying herself with the name-giving ceremony
of my now-born brother. There is nothing to eat at home and father
will not let me enter the house if I go back empty-handed."
In these few words Lale laid bare his predicament.
Jamane could understand how Lale felt. He remembered very well
how difficult it had been when he had begun looking for work the
year before. Jamane also felt responsible towards the younger one
since it was he who had brought the boy to work. He walked back
to the shopkeeper and asked nervously, "Can't you let Lale
also work with me, Sahuji?"
"What do you mean," thundered the shopkeeper. "How
can such a kid carry these loads?"
"Have pity, Sahuji," begged Jamane. "It's really
bad at his home. He's already carried one load. Let him carry some
more. You can give him 50 paisa less instead."
"Hmmmm, not 50 paisa. One rupee." The shopkeeper
looked over at Lale. "If you're willing to carry for one rupee
less, go ahead."
Lale needed to hear no more and scampered away happily to bring
the next load up.
In the evening Lale counted his earnings and calculated. To feed
his parents, his six brothers and sisters and himself, he would
need at least three kilos of rice. If only he could some oil, potatoes
and onions, but then he would have to buy some medicine for his
mother. He first bought the medicine and managed to get just about
two kilos of rice with what he had left over.
When Lale reached home it was already dark. His mother was seated
by the doorway preparing nettle leaves for cooking. Wailing with
hunger were the children scattered here and there. And as usual,
with his legs slung over the porch was Lale's father, dead drunk
and blabbering away. "Why the hell did you have such a litter
like a sow? If you can't take care of them...."
Lale took care not to show the medicine bottle and quietly slunk
into the house.
(Translated by Deepak Thapa and published in "Face to
Face" magazine for development, No.13. Year-end Issue,
1997.)
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