The Rickshaw Puller

Moving his terribly oscillating fingers across his forehead to sweep away the shining droplets of sweat, Bajju dared to confront the merciless summer sun with squinted eyes but was instantly forced to drop his head down. A hot day, which was no different from the one when Bajju took up this profession and had since then endured all the way through these twenty-eight years of intense deadening labor, the cruel weather and mockery with a charming smile. Caring least about his pain and humiliation, he was determined to work, for, at the end of the day, he had a family to feed.

Bajju was a Rickshaw puller.

And it was quite a coincidence that he ended up in this profession. Twenty eight years from now when the General Elections were around the corner and daily political campaigns were the talk of the state, chocking every nook and corner of the city with just one plea, “Please vote for us” a local minister ended up with the idea of providing employment to the underdeveloped sections of the society. This idea was reported to be a case of “Political Publicity for draining votes from the underdeveloped sections” by a local newspaper as the party had so far neglected and had remained totally unconscious of the fact that 'employment’ had been the primary reason that they emerged victorious in the preceding polls. 

However, for Bajju it was a source of complete delight. His father, a rag picker had recently passed away leaving Bajju, then a 16-year-old, skinny lad alone- all by himself. The fact came to him rather as a surprise when the minister’s men invited him to accept a Rickshaw and 500 rupees in cash so that he can start off working for a living. A picture of Bajju along with the minister as he was handing over the note to him was taken as memorabilia. The minister was quite confident then and had actually foretold his victory. However, he failed to fool the public this time and lost drastically.

Anyhow, that was the day when Bajju's journey into a totally different world commenced molding him into a man of responsibilities and labour. With this little inspiration, he dedicated the rest of his life to just one task. With the money that he saved over the years, he repaired his father's house, set up a durable front door, installed an electric fan on to the ceiling and bought kerosene operated stove. He now had all the facilities to get married and get 'settled'.

Tough times had made him develop a sharp memory. The then skinny fellow had evolved not a bit in mass. The dark oiled up hair was no more and continuous waves of wrinkles had his face covered all over. A bushy white mustache and bristles of whitish hair growing in disorganized manner complemented his wrinkled features. He wasn’t that old though, circumstances had weaved such an unnatural picture on his face. For the past three decades, he had been picking up passengers and helping them commute through the narrow streets of Kolkata be the day a rainy one when the streets are strangulated with stagnant water or a humid and scorching one. Young men and women, children, the old, the disabled, the fit all have had the ungrateful privilege to take a ride on the backseat of the rickshaw while Bujju would pull hard on the horizontal bars each time with all the energy he could gather. Sometimes, his customers would bargain for each penny they give him at other times he was chided for being slow. No matter how fatiguing the day or how rude his customers might be, he would always adorn himself with a constant subtle smile that will compel the onlookers to not move ahead until they smile back at him.

The day had been a tiring one for him so far. It was one in the afternoon and the mid-May heat waves had brought the city's commotion into a completely static situation. Bajju pulling up his rickshaw adjacent to the footpath took out his plastic bottle and slurped it all up in one go.

“Aah!”, he sighed.

And then leapt onto the back seat and drew out the shed to take some rest. Sitting there with his hands on his face he started speaking to himself in a muffled voice-

“Why is life so unjust….why do others have to interfere in my life….with what authority do they tell me that my daughter is a disgrace to my family….after all, how esteemed and honored life do they spend with their sons…the whole world knows it.”

Bajju was talking about his fellow comrades.

Sitting there he got lost into the memories of the past when he and his wife welcomed their daughter. It was a moment of pride of him and he was seen never so happy before. But his joys were short-lived. Bajju’s daughter was not even one day old when sarcastic wishes came pouring in like a fountain to drench him down into regret and embarrassment.

“A girl! God forbid, but hard times await for you and your wife Bajju.” Commented the old lady leaning into her stick while holding her five year old grandson who had a bandaged head as a result of being hit on the head with that same stick for stealing his father’s hard earned money.

And such instances continued to haunt them for long.

It was then that his wife held his arm gently and looking into his eyes, smiled at him. This was enough to let him be aware of how foolish he had been to have gotten even close to believing in what the people said.

Presently, it was time for him to move on again. Rest had been unknown personality to him. As he raised his head up, a channel of tear emerged from his left eye and traversing the mysterious features of his face, landed quietly on the burning ground below.

“Its Chimmy who will make me a proud father one day…I’m sure about it…let’s see what your sons do!”

 “Beta, can you take me to Lal Bazar?” A broken voice of an old lady brought him back to reality. The scorching heat had made her face red and her eyes wrinkled face was filled up with sweat all over.

Lal Bazar wasn’t far from their present location and was seldom found free of traffic congestion, with the crossroads ending up as if a pit of vehicles, all drained towards one destination. Had it been anyone besides Bajju, he would have simply said “No”, but Bajju could not help himself from refusing her, although he did pause for a moment before giving his admission.

When Bajju arrived at Lal Bazar, his eyes witnessed even worse traffic than what he had initially anticipated. No matter how far he rolled his eyes to see some commotion, the only ominous sight that returned to him was that of the cars with their tyres stuck immovably to the gritty roads. Here and there a few motorcycles were slicing ahead, exploiting the gaps between the cars, finding their way through this inescapable maze, avoiding any contact with the cars beside them. Bajju stood there, holding onto the horizontal bars of his rickshaw so tightly that his blue veins almost ruptured. By the time he could think of anything else, an army of motor operated soldiers blocked his way from behind and in no time he found himself stuck in the wormhole of buzzing and honking vehicles. 

He hadn’t lost hope yet to find a way out. Perhaps, he wasn’t among the ones who effortlessly start mocking their destiny when faced with trivial hardships. Indeed he had learned a lesson. And in Bajju’s case, he had already faced enough of mockery himself to be heartless enough to mock ‘anyone’ else! Balancing himself on his toes and with his head up, he was constantly on the lookout for an escape route. Luck seemed to have favoured him - his eyes fell on a narrow alley on the left and his face lit up. He was well accustomed to even the city's most secluded passages and he knew exactly well that the alley could lead him to his destination rather really sooner.

Then as soon as the traffic in front moved ahead, Bajju pivoted on his heels and headed his rickshaw towards the alley, forcing the old lady at the back to grip onto the support bar firmly in order to save herself from tripping. He had just one aim then, and it was to somehow rush to the mouth of the passage. In the heat of the moment, he failed to notice the black sedan that was speeding forward and his rickshaw mistakenly ended up leaving behind a wide silvery scratch on the car's side.

“You blind man!” What are you so eager for? What makes you rush! You fool! Wait there!” And a short stout man stepped out of the car, still killing the poor rickshaw-puller with his abuses. Bajju stood there frozen, for he knew he was in trouble. Placing his rickshaw gently on the ground his, he gulped hard. His dark skin gleamed in the yellow light of the sun as streams of sweat went gliding along his wrinkled forehead.

Idiot! Look what have you done to my car!

I’m very sorry, sir. I just didn’t notice….

Do you even know how much it costs to get this repaired? You shameless fellow!

By now, the already crowded place was filled up with spectators on the sidewalk, all talking to each other incoherently with the sounds of the horns from the cars behind almost deafening every ear.

For the man, his harsh words were just not enough a repayment for that insignificant scratch on his car. A man is no less than a beast when anger rules him. Possessed by this ugly spirit, the man pushed the poor rickshaw-puller so hard that he went flying past the pavement, ramming him hard onto the iron divider in the middle of the road.

What happened next is something that Bajju not even faintly remembers. However, when he regained consciousness, he found himself on his bed, with his wife gazing at her with pitiful eyes and his daughter holding a glass of water in her hand, but unlike her mother, her eyes showed no signs of agony. Indeed deep in her heart, she did cry, yet her sobs and her tears were too innocent for anyone except the Divine to hear and to decipher. And tears did roll down Bajju’s cheeks too, for he had recently learned from his wife that the municipal doctor who had treated him, advised him half a year of total inactivity as he had severely injured his back. This news was worse than the pain that his injured back ____. Seeing his wife and his daughter hungry had been his greatest fear and depressingly for him, he could see that evil scheme already stepping up the threshold as if to grip him by his throat, wildly chocking him down to coughs of anxiety. He had always remained alert of his responsibilities.

Everything is over. I’m sorry….I’m sorry that I couldn’t keep my promises. I’m a loser”, said Bajju staring blankly and the tainted ceiling.

“Baba! Don’t say that. It’s you who taught me courage all these years. Don’t give up on it when we need it the most! I’m there and I’ll soon find a solution to all our problems, Baba.,” said the 15-year-old girl. Her eyes gleamed with the light of determination and faith.

 The night soon arrived but it took years to get over. Bajju hardly slept. The physical pain was nominal, however, the idea of him not being able to feed his family was gruesomely distressing. His had fallen asleep as soon as the first rays of twilight peeped across the horizon. There was total silence for some time. An unfamiliar one which the household was alien to. Until a loud crashing sound brought Bajju and his wife back to their senses and upon looking around they saw ……. Collecting the scattered coins that were spread all over the floor.

 

“Maa, Baba, I’ve decided….I will sell tea until baba gets recovers…”

The couple looked at each other in despair.

She continued, “the money that I’ve been saving for the past 2 years will now come in handy….i can buy the things I need.”

“But what about your studies?”, her mom replied.

Chimmy remained silent to this question.

The afternoon saw Chimmy by the roadside with, selling tea to the local commuters. And like her father, she too encompassed the determination for she had a reason to work, yet quite unlike him, she was courageous. 

The first day was tiresome and she faced challenges as she lacked a helping hand. Moreover, accounting for the fiery weather made her job even difficult. Although, at the end of the day she had a reason to smile as she had 'earned' enough to be content. However, this was just the first day and she and had to continue for the rest six months without looking back.

On one such day, Chimmy's school teacher happened to pass by the lane where she used to put up her stall. She had been missing her classes for consecutively and the teacher was totally unaware of her unfortunate situation. Upon seeing her a the stall, he halted and asked her generously to explain to him the reason for her absence. Chimmy trusted her teacher and took no time to pour her heart out.

“Hmm….I understand Chimmy what you are suffering through. If you want I can help you. I mean…. I can help you out with the money if you agree.”. The teacher said and paused for Chimmy’s reply.

This was the moment when all her impediments could have dissolved and all she required to do was to just to say a simple “Yes”. But hail the beauty of Chimmý's admirable character that refused to bend down and embrace …. even when she had the solution to all her troubles standing with open arms right in front of her! The reason for her refusal? That in accepting the offer she should turn away from what her father her taught her through his struggles and this was unacceptable to her.

Looking down with a saintly smile, she nodded in denial. The teacher too smiled, patted her head and wishing her luck told her that he longed to see her back in school, the place she deserved to be in.

Six months passed in no time and Bajju had recovered. He had taken over his place back on the streets of Kolkata and Chimmy resumed school. The real reason for his quick recovery was not medicines but the privilege of having a daughter so unlike the sons of Bajju's comrades.

Ten years later Chimmy grew to be a wonderful young lady, responsible and dutiful just as she had been in her childhood. Her hard work bloomed results. She graduated and joined the same school that had painted colors in her life, as a teacher. With time things changed for Bajju and his household. His neighbors now held a high opinion about him and his 'successful' daughter, who was no longer a ‘burden' in their opinion. 

Chimmy would train her young pupils to face life's challenges by quoting the greats and the invincibles, while in the classroom adjacent to hers, the old man who had once taught her, had no better an inspirational story to narrate, but the heroics of Chimmy Ma’am.