Sadei uncle's Goat loan

Sadei Uncle’s Goat Loan
(A Story Based on a true Incident)
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While I was talking with Sadei Uncle under a mango tree at the outskirts of our village Baishnaba Shadangi passed by us and walked toward the entry point of the village. Covering his face slightly as he walked, he cast a sideways glance at us, gave a sly, hesitant smile, and moved ahead with slow, measured steps—like a sacred cow walking with calm dignity.

I asked Sadei Uncle--“Uncle! When did this fellow return to the village? I heard he was suspended from the rural bank and was hiding somewhere in Bhubaneswar.”

Uncle replied,
“Does he have any shame left? Look at him—walking proudly with that bloated belly. By kicking the stomachs of poor farmers and labourers , he has filled his own belly like Kumbhakarna. When he walks, it seems as if his belly moves ahead of him and he merely follows behind it.”

I said,--“But Uncle, he claims that he is innocent and that he has been falsely implicated.”
Uncle replied with a bitter smile,
“What else would he say? A shameless man always finds an excuse. Even if a bamboo grows out of his face, he would claim it is just giving him a shadow. The real reason he was suspended is that he didn’t share enough with the higher officers.”

I said,
“You shouldn’t say that without proof. These days many innocent people are trapped by conspiracies.”
Uncle replied,
“The proof is standing right in front of you—thats me ! I myself was caught in his net.  Let me tell you how I fell into his trap---"

“Nowadays several rural banks have merged to form the Odisha Grameen Bank, functioning at the regional level. But during the 1980s, there were separate rural banks at the district level in Odisha. These financial institutions were created to meet the grassroots credit needs of farmers, labourers and small traders.
At that time, my family’s financial condition was very poor. After failing in the eighth grade, I gave up all hope of getting a job. My father told me, ‘Look after the farmland. Take a loan from the bank and buy a crossbred milch cow. You are our only son. When we grow old, who will even give us a sip of water if you go away looking for jobs?’

Around that time, this Baishnaba Shadangi came as the manager of the rural bank branch in the nearby village of Neliasahi. Within a short period he earned a reputation as someone committed to improving the financial condition of people in our area. He had good relations with all the local leaders, petty politicians, and government officials.

One day a local petty leader named Hari Subuddhi advised me--
‘Hey Sadashiva ! Why are you sitting idle at home? Take a loan for a cow or goats and start some business.’
I replied,
‘Brother Hari, it will be possible only with your help . You have good relations with Baishnaba Babu. He wouldn’t refuse your request. Please arrange a cow loan for me.’

Hari Subuddhi said---is that all? Come to the bank tomorrow. Your loan will definitely be sanctioned. I will stand as your guarantor. Bring the original property documents. The loan will be approved tomorrow itself.’

The next morning I finished my bath early, bowed before Lord Rameswar at the temple, and reached the bank. But Hari Subuddhi had not yet arrived. The manager’s room was crowded beyond control. Big influential people had already settled themselves comfortably inside, while I—poor fellow—was floating around the bank veranda like a piece of cotton fluff.

Around noon Hari Subuddhi finally arrived. Seeing me he said,
‘I have already spoken to the manager. Don’t worry, the loan will be sanctioned. Sit outside; go in when they call you.’
Saying this, he went inside.

My waiting seemed endless. Before I realized it, it was five in the evening. My stomach was growling with hunger, yet no call came from inside. I had no idea what was happening there. Various hot and cold delicacies were being carried inside the room. By merely smelling the aroma—half a meal in itself—I somehow controlled my hunger and kept waiting for the uncertain call.
Meanwhile, except for one or two employees, the bank staff had left for home. Seeing my anxiety, one employee said,
“Don’t worry. Our manager often works here till ten at night.”
Finally, at six in the evening, my name was called.
Baishnaba Babu looked at me and said,
“Cow loans have already been given in plenty in this area. I’ll sanction a goat loan for you. Sign here.”

After taking my signatures at several places on the loan application, they asked me to leave.
Within two days I received ten thousand rupees. I started goat farming. Profit or loss from the goats is another matter—but the real mystery lay in the bank account.
Every six months I paid an installment. One day out of curiosity I asked the clerk who handled my loan account,
“Sir, how much more do I still have to repay?”
When I heard his reply, I nearly fainted on the spot. A man standing nearby held me up.
The clerk said,
“You have only been paying the interest. The principal is still unpaid. You still owe twenty-nine thousand rupees.”
My throat went dry. I said,
“I had taken a loan of ten thousand rupees to buy goats. How did it become twenty-nine thousand?”
The clerk replied,
“This is not a goat loan. It is a bullock loan. You had taken thirty thousand rupees to purchase bullocks. After adjusting the interest you paid, twenty-nine thousand is still outstanding.”
Almost in tears I said,
“Sir, please check again. I took a goat loan. I signed the application in front of the manager himself.”
Seeing my desperate condition, the clerk felt pity. He brought my loan file from the cupboard and showed it to me. Indeed, it was written as a bullock loan. Not only that, there was also a receipt from the 'Somapur' cattle market as proof of purchase, signed by the local veterinary doctor and the bank manager.
By then I felt as if lightning had struck me. My signatures on the loan application had been misused.
I pleaded with the clerk,
“Sir, please have mercy. Check the account and tell me how much money was actually passed through the voucher that day.”
The clerk was newly posted there and probably unaware of the manager’s corrupt activities. He checked the voucher and said,
“Thirty thousand rupees were passed for your loan that day.”
Everything became crystal clear to me. In this organized loot, the manager, the veterinary doctor,the petty leader and the marketing committee were all partners. They gave me ten thousand rupees and pocketed twenty thousand among themselves.

At that moment Baishnaba Shadangi was sitting in his chamber. Blinded by anger, I stormed inside and shouted,
“Hey you scoundrel! You kick the stomachs of poor people. Won’t God punish you for this?”

Baishnaba Shadangi replied coldly,
“If you shout too much, I’ll hand you over to the police. Get out of here! Were you smoking cannabis when you signed the loan papers?”

It wasn’t only me—he had swallowed the money of many people in this region and expanded both his property and his belly. No one can count how many times he was beaten by angry villagers.

Luckily for the government later announced a loan-waiver scheme, and including me many people were freed from repaying such fraudulent loans.

“This,” Uncle concluded, “is how development schemes often get distorted in our country. Baishnaba Shadangi was finally suspended when his corrupt activities were exposed during an inspection. But what will happen? Within a few days he will probably be declared innocent, reinstated in his job, and even receive his pending salary with interest.”

(Kulamani Sarangi )