The Accidental Mountaineer

Dashrath Manjhi arose early every morning and rushed to tend to the crops he was growing, it fared him rupees 75 and even though that was considered a low wage, at least it brought food to the table for his wife.

Every time he returned from tedious work, there was this overwhelming need to do something better for society and his castes that ached for recognition, even from himself.

The practical side of him told naught but that he was among the lowest caste of India, and that was destiny.

Every time his mind explored the darker side of the world, the thought of Falguni, his wife alone gave him comfort.

He was tending to his crop with his fellow, Sabir, when he congratulated him for the tenth time regarding Falguni getting pregnant.

Manjhi too laughed and thanked him before sprinkling water on the crops and he wished they don't get obliterated by the rain that was expected, which he knew through the radio.

Perhaps a child entering itself would be open to happiness and satisfaction.

He would work harder for his son or daughter and see that he or she doesn’t run away like he did when he was a young lad.

You have Falguni, Dashrath, and soon you’ll have a child you can call yours.

The regurgitated thought, he realized, was the only thing that kept him alive.

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Dashrath looked at the tall, prideful mountain challenging him.

He was on the south ridge of the mountain and was so tired he collapsed in front of the mountain, like a prey falling for a predator.

Except the mountain wasn’t a predator. Was it?

He sighed and gazed at the sun, gleaming outside brightly, hoping it’d illuminate his life with its bright, enthusiastic rays.

A sweat beaded down his forehead and he hastily wiped it, realizing that the sun brought toxic heat too.

Life had bright times, but it contained dreadful times when waves crashed against him so powerfully that he couldn’t fight them back.

Ten hells, He needed water. Craved how humane it made him feel.

Falguni should be here anytime with his lunch and water. The thought made him happy and loosened him from contemplating life and its challenging, obscuring ways.

But he remembered, at all costs, to thank God for what he had. It was sufficient for him.

 He would live.

Until there was someone he needed to feed was alive.

*************************************************************************************

The sun was slowly descending, along with Dashrath’s patience to wait for Falguni.

It had been an hour after Falguni’s usual time of arriving.

It made him wonder if she had even left the house.

Stop, Dashrath. She probably just has a hard time climbing the damned mountain. 

What if something happened? She’s pregnant, for skies’ sake. A more sharp, bold, protective side of him commanded him to go check on his betrothed.

Precautions couldn’t hurt.

Though he admitted to himself that he was dying of thirst and hunger, Dashrath brought himself to his feet and his consciousness practically dragged him up the steep hill.

He walked for a couple of minutes and cursed at the fact that there was no other route to reach his house but the mountain one.

He felt a pang of guilt twist in him as he panted. Falguni was pregnant. She would be exasperated and exhausted to walk from the north ridge to the south one every day.

Moments later, when Dashrath’s wife was nowhere to be noticed, fear burst through him like an energy source.

It urged him to keep hustling through the difficult path and assured him that he was absorbent of his surroundings.

Finally, he reached the north ridge and searched for Falguni.

When he saw no trace of her, he tried calling out her name loudly, his echoes booming over the mountains.

No luck.

“Falguni!”. No response. “Falguni!”. None. “Phaguni!” The name she turned her head to every single time didn’t contribute to finding her.

Dashrath was hopeless. Perhaps Falguni was still at home, or maybe she had felt tired and had decided to stay inside for the day.

A thousand swearings seared through him. 

God, I’ll never disobey if Falguni is safe, at home. God, I promise to be truthful to everything. Just keep Falguni safe. 

It was the least he could do to somehow convince God to pardon him for all his sins and keep his wife, the only person who brought color and joy to his life alive.

He stumbled on a rock as he had his eyes closed in contemplation. His eyes jerked open immediately to confront the damn rock that caused the pain that shot through his leg.

And met naught a rock, but the limp body of none other than his betrothed, Falguni Devi.

His eyes adjusted to her and the whole world spun in front of him in the flicker of a second.

The instinctual reaction was to scream his wife’s name like a madman, chanting it, again and again, hoping she’d pity him and get up.

“Falguni!” He bellowed and cried harder as he noticed the familiar lunch bag lurking at her side.

“Falguni! Phaguni! Falguni. Devi.! Get up!” He patted her repeatedly, tears dripping down his chin.

Think, Dashrath. Get her to the hospital.

Without another thought or sob sacrificed, Dashrat pulled Falguni, preparing to carry her to the nearest hospital.

The tears were uncontrollable, much to his chagrin.

Falguni needs you. Your future child needs you.

The revelation channeled energy in him. He wasn’t just a husband but a father.

Dashrath took a tentative step forward and slipped immediately.

Falguni’s weight made it almost impossible not to fall, but grit from Dashrath helped him balance himself and run up the mountain.

He realized, moments after, that Falguni might’ve slipped because of the marsh parts of the mountain.

Why today, of all days? Why did you fall?

Dashrath was charging with a bull’s rage in the direction of his village.

It was an involuntary, reflex action. If there was any trouble or if something was amiss, he would turn home.

But he needed to go to the hospital.

Which, damn-worthily, was 90 miles away.

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“Falguni,” Dashrath whispered to his wife. “Hang on tight. It’s going to be all right. We’ve arrived at the hospital and the doctor will tend to your wounds.” It was more of reassurance to himself rather than to his wife.

Her eyes were shut tight like she didn’t dare to open them.

The nurses and the doctor pulled her bed away, from his reach and out to the room. 

He sunk into a chair and hollered, catching the attention of other patients and staff.

Nothing mattered now.

If Falguni was gone, it’d be his fault and that would taunt him forever.

The only person who brought joy, or sense in his life was her.

It was her laughing eyes and innocence that had nudged him to work and eke out an existence every day.

And now she would simply vanish, like sugar dissolving in odorless, tasteless, water.

Ironic how the water at least tasted, even after the sugar dissipates.

He looked down and silent tears rolled down his cheeks, as he clandestinely cursed a nonliving thing for all that happened to him.

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15 minutes later, the doctor came out of the room with a grim face, his lips pressing into a thin line, showing no emotion.

Dashrath jerked to his feet expectantly. “Is Falguni okay? Is she awake? Can I speak to her?” 

The doctor grimaced like a student who forgot his homework. 

“Ah. About that.” He sighed wearily, eyeing Dashrath. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of the bad news. But Falguni has passed away.”

Everything stopped even Dashrath’s heart.

He allowed the news to sink in, to make out what it meant.

It meant that his wife was gone.

Damn the mountain. 

He cried like a wolf in the lone night as the ugly realization dawned over him.

************************************************************************************

“We were able to save the child. She breathed, Dashrath. Just enough to give birth to him.”

Dashrath was giddy with relief. 

At least there was his child.

The doctor led him to the room where Falguni’s limp, lifeless body lay and handed his child over to him, who laughed.

“Bhagirath.” He whispered, his eyes clouding with tears. “She always wanted it to be Bhagirath.”

The doctor shook his head sadly and walked away, leaving him alone with his son.

Dashrath wasn’t certain whether to cry tears of happiness or shed tears of sorrow.

But he was sure of one thing: That damned mountain wasn’t going to stand there still anymore, not on his watch.

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“Sabir,” Dashrath tried to reason with him for the hundredth time. “We need to obliterate the damned mountain. Not for only Falguni, but for society. Skies! Do you know how many people have the possibility to die from turbulent slipping?”

“And Skies! Do you know how ridiculed I feel when you demand me to cut agriculture and join you in this mission? Do you even have the knowledge to count how many coins it’d cost to do that? Coins, my foot, lakhs! Answer me and I’ll bother to answer you.” He challenged incredulously, chiding Dashrath.

Dashrath was appalled by Sabir’s insincerity, but deep down knew his fellow was telling him nothing but the truth.

But maybe it was the time to change the truth, flip it over and give it meaning. In fact, it had cost his wife’s life.

A knot twisted in his stomach as he thought of Falguni and her limp, lifeless body.

He shook the thought away. 

Focus on the future, Manjhi.

“We could gather money from everyone! Everyone thinks it's a hindrance, right?” Dashrath’s face lights up at his own suggestion.

It could work.

Hope bloomed in his gut as he awaited Sabir’s response.

“Not a hindrance they can’t resolve, Dashrath.” Sabir quieted down and tore his hand through his hair. “Listen,” He turned to Dashrath hastily. “I don’t want any part in this. But my wife offers to take care of your son when you patch up. I’m sorry but that’s the least thing I can do.” He didn't look apologetic, incompatible with his sentence, but looked practical, almost convincing Dashrath to give up on the mission and just grieve his mighty loss.

“I understand,” Dashrath said in a hopeless voice. “I thank you for your help. Very much.”

That was true. He was guileless in raising children, heck, even in being around them. 

Sabir nodded and took Dashrath’s hands eloquently, much to his surprise. He gazed up at him and noticed a twinge of emotions. 

If anyone couldn’t depict emotions and was as strong as a skull, it was Sabir Tamulla.

“I implore you to only think about your child who will want a good life. You’ve lived a meager life, Dashrath Manjhi, but don’t let your child dig in the dirt. That mountain isn’t going to bend to or oblige anyone. Trust me, if that mountain is going to fall, it’s when cats can fly.”

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Dashrath Manjhi had asked everyone for money and assistance even and had got ridiculed and insulted. From the people’s family secrets he knew, till the people’s names he didn’t even know, they all pitied the same response.

“Are you nuts?”

“Ten hells. I barely have money for my 13-year-old daughter’s sari function.”

“Piss off, Manjhi. The mountain’s been there for decades.”

“Do I look like a fool to you.?”

Their replies have been disconcerting and disturbing as well. 

Why in the skies did no one want to help the world by doing good?

Why on earth did no one bother to avoid deaths by delayed hospital treatments?

Those questions were unanswerable, much to his chagrin.

No one cared about anything else but themselves, lest danger pries them out too.

Sorrow and rage were the two emotions a human needed to feel to sympathize with others. It’d preach to them to be less judgemental and to be more open. It’d force them to be compassionate, and less reasonable and practical with people.

People had rhetorically asked Dashrath how he would get the money, the strength to take down the enormous, bulging mountain, which in Dashrath’s arrogant opinion was a brute not alive.

And yet here he was, manipulated by defiance and determination, ready to face the beast that had killed his wife.

“Do it, damn you.” A loud voice boomed in his head.

Dashrath complied and started obliterating the mountain with the only hammer and chisel he truly possessed, swearing on Falguni that he would take down the beast before God took him away.

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After 22 years of bleed, sweat, and tears, Dashrath Manjhi had finally obliterated the mountain.

No one had the courage to step up to him and offer assistance, but it wasn’t like he needed it anyways.

He would’ve never dreamed of this day, where he would destroy the brute that had taken Falguni away from him as a single, lone man.

His smile was triumphant but also satisfied as he took in his surroundings.

No one’s wife, sister, or daughter was going to be sacrificed because of this non-existent creature.

After the names he had been called, the wicked assumptions, he had finally done it.

He maneuvered himself farther away from the remains of the mountain to admire the work he had done for the past 22 years.

A tear rolled down his cheek and he immediately dashed to his house, telling his son of the exciting news.

Bhagirath was genuinely happy and excited, he looked surprised for a moment as if this was surreal. But if he was flabbergasted, it didn’t occur to him to show it.

“I’m proud of you, father.” He said cheerfully and hugged him.

Dashrath knew Falguni would be proud too.

Sabir’s voice penetrated Dashrath’s brain:

“If that mountain is going to fall, it’s when cats can fly.” 

He had thought so too, let himself believe the discouragements and the glowers.

But cats weren’t flying anyway.

~The end.

Author's note:

Dashrath Manjhi also known as the mountain man, was a laborer in a Gehlaur village, near Gaya in Bihar, India. When his wife died in 1959 due to injury caused by falling from a mountain, he decided to carve a path of 110 m long, 9.1 m wide, and 7.7m deep through the ridge of hills using only a hammer and a chisel. After 22 years of work, Dashrath shortened travel between the Atri and Wazirganj blocks of Gaya town from 55 km to 15 km. He traveled to New Delhi to get recognition for his work and was rewarded by then Chief Minister of Bihar. In 2016, India Post issues a postage stamp featuring him.