Sukuta's mother (Short Story)

Shukuta’s Mother
(Short Story )
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It was the month of Baisakh,eight o'clock in the morning.
As the day grew older, the anger of the Sun grew fiercer. The heat was unbearable. Because the power line had gone out, the fan had stopped. My whole body was drenched in sweat. Sitting on the veranda of the small farmhouse and trying to browse the internet on my mobile , I burst out in irritation—
“Ugh! Even with a 4G SIM there’s no internet !”

By farmhouse, don’t imagine that I had a huge farmhouse. It was a small house in one corner of a small farm. Adjacent to it stood a cowshed with five or six Jersey cows.All around lay four or five acres of cashew plantation. During the summer, at this time of the year, the cashew harvest was carried out under my supervision. That was the reason why I had arrived at the farm so early that morning.

While surfing my mobile and scrolling through the internet, I felt as if someone was standing below the veranda. Thinking it must be the watchman Prafulla, I asked without lifting my head,
“Yes Prafulla, tell me ”
A trembling female voice reached my ears.
“Babu, can you give me some work here?”

I lifted my head and looked at the old woman standing in front of me. She must be around eighty years old. Her skin hung loosely over her frail body. In one hand she held a stick made of kendu wood for support. Wisps of grey hair fluttered over her head. She wore a torn piece of cloth the original color of which was impossible to guess from its present faded state. From the hollow sockets of her sunken eyes flickered a faint hope of getting some work in my farm .Unable to stand any longer, the old woman slowly collapsed and sat down on the veranda.

The sight struck me like a bolt from the blue. What a pitiable scene!
I asked, “Who told you amma that there is work here for you?”
The old woman replied briefly, “Bhika’s wife .”
I said, “There is no one called Bhika here.”
She answered, “That is your attendant Prafulla… in the village we call him by nickname Bhika.”

I felt pity for her. In the hope of finding work she had walked nearly two kilometers from her village . What work could she possibly do at this age? How did her sons and daughters-in-law allow her to come out in this condition !!

Just then Prafulla arrived. He said,
“Sir, Shukuta’s mother is a very unfortunate woman . She hasn’t eaten any thing for last two days. Please give her some work—anything. Even a half wage will do.”

Annoyed, I told Prafulla ---
“Don’t you have a little pity for her, Prafulla? Can’t you see her condition? What work can she do at this age? Doesn’t she have any children to support her ?”
The old woman replied softly,
“Yes babu,I have two sons and two daughters-in-law. They have their own troubles.”
Prafulla said,
“Having them is as good as not having any child sir. If she asks for food, she gets beaten with a stick.”

Pulling aside her cloth, Prafulla showed the old woman’s bare back. Two or three red welts from stick blows were clearly visible on her skin.

My eyes were filled with tears. What kind of sons and daughters-in-law were these ! How could they be so cruel?

Soon Prafulla’s wife arrived and said,
“One son has gone away as a migrant labourer to Kerala.Nobody knows where he is now.. alive or dead. His wife somehow earns a few coins by working hard, but that is never enough for her to make both the ends meet . And the other son 'Shukuta', drinks liquor like a fish and keeps beating his mother without mercy. He grabs the old woman’s pension money and doesn’t even give her the BPLrice she receives from the government . Sometimes he gives her a handful to eat, sometimes nothing at all... that worthless fellow will die soon for commtting such sin …”

Before she could finish, Shukuta’s mother interrupted her and said gently...
“Don’t scold my son like that, Bhika’s wife . May my sons live well for thousand years. Let me depart the world before them. May God keep them happy.”

I was astonished. This is what a mother truly is—one who endures everything. Like a tigress snatching her cub from danger, she protects her children. She cannot bear to hear anyone speak ill of them.

I gave the old woman some money and sent her back. As she walked off, I could hear her faint voice murmuring....
“Babu, I was once the daughter-in-law of a respectable household . When my husband was alive, he treated me like a queen. He would never allow me to go begging at anyone’s door.”

My heart grew heavy. I kept thinking—compared to the worry of that old woman’s empty stomach, how trivial my irritation over a slow internet connection really was !

(Kulamani Sarangi )