Book Details
Who is Responsible? (Short Stories)
Year Of Publish:
Who is Responsible?
(A Collection of Short Stories)
K. V. Dominic
Dedicated to
My dear wife Anne,
Daughter Rose Ann,
and Son Joe George
Preface
With immense happiness I am presenting before my esteemed readers this maiden collection of my short stories. There are fifteen stories in this book which have been written over a period of seven years. My first short story “The Twins” was composed in 2008 and the last “Best Government Servant” just three days before. It was much easier for me to find themes for my poems whereas an outline for a story came to my mind once in a blue moon. Being a social critic I could easily vent out my anger and emotion over social evils and issues instantly through poems.
Almost all the stories in the collection have been published periodically through my own edited journals as well as through other international refereed journals, both print and online. The title story “Who is Responsible?” won great acclaim and appreciation when it was published in the online journal Muse India issue 30 (March-April 2010). It was the leading story of a number of stories specially called for and selected by the special story editor. In my stories I have used several themes and focussed on many issues which are universal and at the same time frequently occurring in my own State, Kerala. The themes include loneliness and problems of old age, thirst for love, sexual desires, robbery and murder, terrorism, humanism and compassion, corruption and bribery in government offices, honesty and duty consciousness, fair judgement, cruel destiny, superstitions and exploitations in the name of religion, fight against superstitions, politics and political exploitations, Christian spirit versus Christian practice, miseries of the poor and the marginalised, indifference and cruelty to the poor, cruelty to animals and punishment for it, problems of educational system, problems of unemployment, beauty of animal world, love and compassion to animals, exploitation of forests, conversion and conservation etc.
Before winding up let me express my deep gratitude to my bosom friend and world renowned publisher Mr. Sudarshan Kcherry of Authorspress. A bouquet of thanks to him for accepting my book for publication! He is a person who is seldom found among publishers—a philosopher, poet, critic and a great motivator to hundreds of writers like me. Pranaam to him! Wishing all my loving readers an enlightening experience,
–Dr. K. V. Dominic
Contents
- Who is Responsible?
- A Good Samaritan
- Best Government Servant
- Ammu’s Birthday
- An Email from Senthil Kumar
- Fire Your Horoscope
- Joseph’s Maiden Vote to Parliament
- Mathews, the Real Christian
- Our Dear Bhai
- Sanchita Karma
- School Entrance Festival
- Selvan’s House
- Twisted Course of Destiny
- The Twins
- World Environment Day
1
Who is Responsible?
Rehman, aged seventy three is living with his wife Ramla, sixty eight, in a palatial double-storeyed house facing the Vembanad Lake at Kumarakam in Kerala, India. He is reclining in an arm-chair watching rafts, barges, canoes, cruisers and house-boats carrying cargos, passengers and tourists to and fro. He longed to be one among them voyaging with vibrant dreams and hopes.
“I too was spirited and jovial like them. Yes, in my prime youth. Gone are those happy days. I have to abide to the laws of nature. Pleasures and pains are part of life. A hill has a valley. A sunny day is followed by a dark night. But can I nurture the hope that this my winter will be followed by a spring? Might be in the next world, or in the next birth,” Rehman’s mind drifted philosophically back to his past.
Rehman retired as the headmaster of the Government High School, two kilometers away from his house. Ramla had only school education and hence remains as housewife. They have a son and two daughters. The daughters were married by two business men; one settles in Thiruvananthapuram and the other at Thodupuzha. Only occasionally they visit their parents. Even the phone calls are rare. Anwar, the son of Rehman and Ramla is working as an electrician in Oman. Since he was not very studious, Anwar had to end his education with a polytechnic certificate. Being their only son, the parents wanted him to be always with them. Since Kerala is a State where majority are educated and employment opportunities few, neither Anwar nor his parents could fulfil their wish. Anwar was compelled to seek employment abroad and thus he got placement as an electrician in a company run by an Arab in Oman. Though the work is very risky, it is highly rewarding.
Rehman family had no landed property except ten cents which Rehman had bought with his meagre salary several years back and built a small house having tiled roof. Rehman was a very reputed school teacher. He was cent percent committed to his profession. Never in his professional life had he caned or even pinched his pupils. He was always against corporal punishment whereas his colleagues were cane masters. Rehman won the hearts of his pupils and their parents through sheer love and compassion. The return of love and respect from his former pupils and the villagers is the only asset he has and that makes him content and happy in his retired old life. In the evenings he went to the community hall of the panchayat and involved in the literacy programme of the government, educating the illiterate old who had been destined to discontinue their education in their childhood.
Ramla was becoming weaker and weaker. The joints of her limbs started to ache severely. Treatments were done in several hospitals. It was diagnosed that she had severe arthritis. She had to keep awake several nights, unable to sleep. All the domestic works were done by her, since servants were unavailable. So Rahman and Ramla decided that they should get their son married. Anwar was already twenty four and Muslim boys got married in the early twenties. Though Anwar was unwilling at first, finally he yielded to his parents’ pressure. With the money he had earned, a double-storeyed house had already been built. Proposals of marriage came from several rich families. A bridegroom employed abroad had high demand in the marriage field. Photographs of the proposed girls were sent to Anwar and he selected a beautiful girl from among the photos. The marriage was fixed. After a wait of two months Anwar got leave for the marriage—a leave for just twenty five days. The wedding ceremony and the feast were conducted with all pomp. The bride was beyond doubt very beautiful—a perfect match to Anwar. Only ten days were left for their honeymoon. Anwar and his wife, Aisha went to Ootty, an enticing hill resort in Tamil Nadu, as a honeymoon trip. They stayed there for two days. Connubial bliss seemed like heavenly bliss. The day for Anwar’s departure arrived. Naturally it was heart-rending for both Anwar and Aisha to part. Tears ran like brooks over her cheeks. Anwar’s eyes also sank in tears. The fact that he would get leave only after two years added their agony. Rehman and Ramla too grieved at their son’s departure.
Every day after Anwar’s departure, Aisha contacted him through phone. Their communication went on for hours. Anwar appointed a chauffeur for his car at home, for Aisha knew no driving. Rahul, the chauffer was young and handsome. Aisha’s grief and loneliness gradually disappeared. She went out in the car almost every day for shopping, movie, to her own house as well as her friends’ houses. Neither Ramla nor Rehman had any command on her. After all, she needs to obey only her husband—that was her policy. Anwar was compelled to marry as to get help to his mother. Rahul accompanied Aisha throughout and entertained her with silly jokes. He went to his house at dusk and returned in the morning. Was Aisha crossing the lakshmana rekha of a bride or Rahul tempting her like Ravana? Ramla raised the doubt first and Rehman found some sense in it. How can it be warned to Aisha or Rahul? Suppose their relationship is only that of good friends? The doubts in the house spread to the neighbourhood and people started to gossip. Once when Ramla hinted at such gossip to Aisha, she exploded. She remarked that people were jealous of her or they should never accuse a woman who suffered from the absence of her husband. In fact she called her husband every day and talked for several minutes. Rehman had no courage to raise any doubt to Aisha. Similarly it was unfair to raise the question to Anwar which will damn him to suspicion and dejection. Moreover Anwar will accuse them for compelling him to marry and culminate into such a catastrophe. Aisha gradually stopped communication with Rehman and Ramla. She was young, healthy and full of passion. It was true that she was a bride, but her body knew no ethics. Who would satiate her carnal needs? How long could she control her desires? How could she resist the enticement? Was it fair for her husband to leave her hungry there for such a long time? Can Anwar be blamed as he was against the marriage itself? Who is to be blamed then?
Things were going like this with gloom and despair haunting in Rehman’s house. Ramla’s health was declining and she staggered as she walked. Yet she did the cooking in the morning as Aisha always got up late. One day, as usual, Ramla finished her cooking in the morning and was waiting for her husband and Aisha for the breakfast. As Aisha did not come down, Ramla went upstairs to her bedroom. The room was opened but she was not there. Ramla called her loudly, but there was no reply. It was evident that she had gone out of the house. Rehman searched for her in the neighbourhood in vain. He then went to Rahul’s house and learned that he too was missing from his house. Rehman came to the conclusion that Rahul had eloped with Aisha.
“My God, why do you test us like this? What sin have we committed? How will I report the matter to my son? How can we withstand this scandal? What will happen to Ramla when she knows the fact? What’s the use in complaining to the police?” Such answerless questions crushed Rehman’s mind as he walked back to his house.
“Could you find her? Is Rahul there in his house?” Ramla asked him as he stepped into the house.
“Rahul too is missing,” Rehman murmured.
“Allah, save our son! The whore has run after the Saithan,” telling this she sank into her bed. With the assistance of the neighbours, she was taken to the hospital and admitted in the intensive care unit. The doctor reported that she was paralysed.
“Shouldn’t we inform this to Anwar?” one of the neighbours asked Rehman.
“How can I inform my son that his wife has eloped with the chauffer? What use is there in informing him that his mother is hospitalized because of it? He won’t get any leave and come back. When he calls me I shall tell him,” Rehman replied. After a few days Ramla was discharged and brought back to the house. Rehman’s brother brought a maid servant from his neighbourhood. She would serve the house from dawn to dusk and then go back to her house.
Reminiscence of his past, sweet and then bitter, passed through Rehman’s mind for nearly an hour. His heaven-like house has now declined to a hell of sorrows and dejection. Anwar has not called since Aisha left the house. Though Rehman tried to contact his son, there was no reply from the other end. What has happened to him? Has he been informed by someone about Aisha’s run away? Rehman’s worrying thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of the postman. Rehman had a registered letter. It was from the Sultanate of Oman. With shaking hands he opened the letter. The contents of the letter made him hysteric. The letter read that Anwar was dismissed from his company as he had been arrested by the government under the charge of involvement in terrorist activities. Rehman yelled:
“No, my son can never be a terrorist. I have taught him the noble values of secularism. He believes in the Creator, the only God who fosters the whole human race and preserves the universe. How can he work as a jihadist or for a faction who believes in genocide? God, why don’t you call me back? I can’t bear this. I want to die. I want to die.” The maid servant rushed to him hearing his loud cry.
“Sir, what happened to you?”
“I have lost my son, Shahana. Is your madam still sleeping?”
“Yes, Sir. Should I wake her?”
“Oh no. Please don’t inform her. Anwar has lost his job. He is arrested for terrorism. Shahana, please don’t tell this to others. Shahana, can you give me some poison. I don’t want to live anymore.”
“Sir, what are you saying? Nothing will happen to your son. He will be released. He can never be a terrorist, for he is your son. If you die, who is there for the madam?”
“My God, why do you test me like this?” telling this he went to his room and shut the door. Shahana, as usual, went back to her house at 6 p.m. after her routine work. She hadn’t told the madam what she had heard from the master. She prayed to God to give strength to his master to bear the misfortune.
Early in the next morning Shahana came to her master’s house. The front door was still shut. She pressed on the electric bell’s switch. None came and opened the door. She pressed the switch again. The bell sounded but there was no reply. She called the master loudly:
“Sir, please open the door. I am Shahana.”
There was no response. She went round the house to the back door. It was kept opened. She got into the kitchen and called for the master. Still there was no answer. Shahana rushed directly to the madam’s bedroom where the husband and the wife slept at night. To her horror, she found the madam drenched in blood. She cried loudly:
“God forbid! Madam, what happened to you?”
She turned to the cot where the master slept. He too was drenched in blood. She wailed:
“How tragic! Which villain has done it?”
Yelling loudly she ran out of the house to call the neighbours. The neighbours rushed to the bedroom and found that Rehman and Ramla were stabbed to death. The beds became pools of stinky blood. The police came and searched every nook and corner of the house for any evidence of the crime. It was found that the safe where ornaments and money were kept was opened and the contents were stolen. The news of the merciless twin murder flashed the village and the entire State like lightening. Thousands flooded to the house. As mentioned early, Rehman family was respectable and dear to the whole village. Police completed the formalities. Inquest and postmortem continued for hours. The police dog searched for the murderer in vain. Rehman’s daughters, their husbands and children sat round the dead bodies crying and weeping. The whole house became a hell of wails. The dead bodies were buried in the afternoon. Several hundred mourners attended the function. The minister from the constituency assured the crowd that the murderer would be caught immediately. The police may catch the culprit. Only fifty percent chance was there as per the statistics. Who is to be blamed for the tragedy of Rehman and his family? When thousands of villainous wolves flourish and reign, innocent lambs like Rehman are mercilessly butchered. Where is the poetic justice?
2
A Good Samaritan
I am going to narrate an incident that is three fourth real and the rest blended with some fantasy to make it a short fiction. The event took place in a town in Kerala, India.
In order to attend a seminar at Thrissur I was driving my car along the national highway. Cars, buses and trucks were running like rockets along the black ribbon street. Dusk was approaching and the light of the vehicles went past like missiles. Suddenly I noticed a man-like object on the left side of the street. I steered my car to the side of the street and applied the brake. There was a man lying unconscious and bleeding through his nostrils. I felt his pulse and understood that life had not departed him. He was a lean man, aged around sixty and I lifted him to my car amassing my strength. I drove the car fast to the nearest hospital, some five kilometers away at Thrissur. Some vehicles had hit him and overthrew him to the side of the street. The driver of the vehicle sped away fearing the consequences. Such iron-hearted people are characteristic of the selfish, cutthroat, contemporary urban society. The accident victim was admitted to Amala Hospital, Thrissur. The nurses rushed in and I told them how he had been found and picked up. The doctor, after examination reported to me that the patient was critical. He had a severe head injury. An immediate operation was required and I told him to do whatever was needed to save his life. I signed the papers for the patient as none of his relatives was present. I advanced an amount of Rs. 10,000 from my purse as the fees of the operation. Before the patient was shifted to the operation theatre I asked the doctor if he could come across his whereabouts. The doctor produced before me a wallet which had been found in his pocket. The victim’s identity card was there in the wallet along with a phone diary.
From the identity card I knew that he was Mr. Xavier residing at Chavakad, a place not very far from Thrissur. The phone book helped me to call to his house.
“Hello, is it Mr. Xavier’s house?” I phoned through my cell phone.
“Yes, kindly tell me who you are,” came back a female voice.
“I am Professor Mohan. You may not know me. Are you Xavier’s wife?”
“Yes, what’s the matter?”
“He has met with an accident and is admitted at Amala Hospital, Thrissur. Don’t worry. Not very serious. Please come to the hospital.”
“Jesus, save my husband! I am coming soon,” came out her choking sound.
Within half an hour Xavier’s wife arrived there accompanied by a dozen other people. She couldn’t control herself and was crying aloud, tears running like streams. To her request I told her what had happened. Mariam, that was her name, cried aloud to Jesus to save her husband. The corridor before the operation theatre echoed with the wails of Mariam, her two daughters, and Xavier’s parents. I tried my best to pacify them. A few hours passed. More and more people flooded to the passage. There were some twenty five people—men and women—assembled there praying for the life of Xavier. I started to wonder how such an ordinary person could pull so many people anxious at his health and praying for his life. The sobs and wails shook the walls of the corridor and the nurses couldn’t control the situation. Fortunately a nurse opened the door of the operation theatre and asked me to meet the doctor inside. I longed for good news from the doctor and prayed to God to save Xavier. The doctor told me that the operation was successful. Xavier has survived the crucial condition but if he could lead a normal life was uncertain. The brain is affected and hence it may cause paralysis as well as loss of memory. If this news is imparted to Xavier’s kith and kin waiting outside I could imagine the hellish wail erupting there. Mariam would collapse and have to be admitted in the hospital. Hence I pleaded the doctor to tell them a lie and thus hide the seriousness of the case. Accordingly the doctor appeared before them and announced that Xavier had had only a minor head injury and there was a clotting of a little blood inside, which was successfully removed. He will recover soon and will be discharged within a week. The people including Mariam were relieved and the wails ceased.
My eagerness to know why so many people were anxious of Xavier’s health sprouted in my mind and I couldn’t but seek the answer. I preferred to stay there some more time. After all, I had nothing to do that night than sleeping in a lodge at Thrissur to attend the seminar the following day.
“Mariam, kindly tell me your whereabouts and who all are these people.”
“Sir, we are much obliged to you for saving my husband’s life. You are an angel whom Jesus sent,” she replied in a broken voice. O my God, they are relieved by hearing the lie from the doctor. Once they come to know the reality how will they face it? I prayed to God to give them the strength to bear.
“We live at Chavakad, my husband Xavier, these two daughters, and these parents. The daughters Liz and Grace are studying in the eighth standard.”
“What’s your occupation?”
“We have two acres of agricultural land and we live on it.”
“And who are these people?”
The answers came from several quarters at once.
“I am Venugopal. I met with a road accident five years ago. Had not this Xavier chettan (elder brother) taken me to the hospital then I would have been in the other world now.”
“The same is the case with me also. My name is Akbar. While I was going on my bike, a truck dashed me from behind and threw me away. Like an angel Xavier chettan appeared there and took me to the hospital. I owe my life to him.”
“I am Joseph. Three years back while I was pushing my vegetable cart along the highway a truck dashed me and my cart, and I fell unconscious. When I opened my eyes I was in the hospital, picked up and saved by this great man Xavier. He is indeed a saviour as his name designates.”
“Sir,” Mariam continued the conversation for others. “What you hear from them is true. These are only a few of the men my husband has saved from the accidents. My husband has saved five hundred and ten people from the road accidents in the past eight years. We have taken it our mission to save the lives of men who are uncared on road sides. My daughters and I help my husband in nursing the accident victims in the hospital. There were several cases in which the relatives of the victims never turned up and we had to bear the hospital charges. Forty nine victims have died on the lap of my husband on his way to the hospital. How uneasy was my husband in those days! He couldn’t eat anything and I had to wipe out the tears which ran through his cheeks.” Mariam’s eyes were immersed in tears and she mopped it with a kerchief.
“Don’t cry Mariam. God will reward you,” I tried to console her.
“Yes Sir, how can Jesus reject us? What had we done that He punishes my husband like this?” she started sobbing.
“God will never punish you, Mariam. He only loves His creations and never punishes.”
“Yes Sir, I too believe so. My husband had earlier been an employee of a private bus. He had seen so many such accidents then where victims had been uncared. Then on 20th February 2000 when I was walking along the road with my only son Williams, an auto rickshaw hit my son from behind. He was taken immediately to the hospital but he left us for ever after eight days. He was only twelve then.” She couldn’t restrain from crying. Mariam continued her sobs for a few minutes and then resumed her narration.
“That tragic end of our son inspired my husband to involve in such humanitarian service. Everyday from 10.30 am to 2 pm my husband will be at Guruvayoor ready to rescue such accident victims. From 2.30 pm to 6 pm he will be available at Kunnamkulam. Very often my husband had to spend the money in his pocket for such hospital service and we had to starve those days. By the grace of God we are being helped in this service by my husband’s brother in the Gulf as well as from my own parents.” Mariam concluded her epic narration.
“God has many more plans to complete through your husband, Mariam. So Xavier will recover soon. He is indeed that good Samaritan of your Bible.”
“Yes Sir, God will save him, we are sure.” The words came out from the mouths of all the people assembled there and it echoed from corridor to corridor. No doubt God will do here a miracle, my mind murmured.
3
Best Government Servant
The happiest day of his life! Dr. Krishnan Namboodiri, aged 38 is going to join as Lower Division Clerk in the Taluk Office at a small town in the State of Kerala. Though the minimum educational qualification prescribed for a clerk is SSLC (10th Class) pass, Krishnan is M.A., MPhil, PhD in Gandhian Studies. He belongs to a Brahmin family which had a wealthy family lineage in the past. His parents who are still alive and living with him were bequeathed just one acre of land. Krishnan’s father is a retired school teacher and he had to spend all his hard earned savings to marry off his two daughters.
On the way to the Taluk Office to join service Krishnan seated comfortably on a seat in a bus and started to ruminate on his life journey so far. The bus will take one hour to reach the destination and there was sufficient time for him to recollect. Krishnan had a pleasant trip in life till his age of 25 when he completed his education. From there started his bitter wounding tread over brambly path. Characteristic of the ideal Brahmins, his father was an honest man, sincere, committed and affable to the pupils, colleagues as well as neighbours. He never lied in his life. Krishnan’s mother, a housewife, was equally noble, affable and serviceable to the neighbourhood. Krishnan had first class for his SSLC and then joined Pre Degree Course in Newman College, Thodupuzha. His father, a Gandhian was his role model and Krishnan was attracted to the Gandhian thoughts and way of life even from his childhood. The great values of Ahimsa, Non-violence, truth, patriotism etc. moulded and guided his life. Krishnan’s ambition was to take PhD in Gandhian philosophy. After his Pre Degree course, which again he passed with a first class, he joined there in Newman College for B.A. History. He was attracted to the students union SFI (Students Federation of India) which fought for the rights of the students. He was a good orator and his basic good qualities and values enabled him to become the chairman of the college union. Though SFI was a left oriented union Krishnan was all against violence and unnecessary strikes in the college. He graduated with a high first class and he got admission for MA Gandhian Studies in the school of Gandhian Thought and Development Studies in Mahatma Gandhi University, Kottayam. The scholarship he got there was sufficient for his stay there and a financial relief to his father. Krishnan was very brilliant in his studies and the most favourite of his teachers. After his MA he joined for MPhil there and after that PhD. His academic life of six years in the university campus remains the most memorable period of his life.
After his heavenly campus life the real challenges of future stared at him. For a pauper youth like him education is primarily a means to earn livelihood. But in his State, Kerala where literacy rate is 95% and unemployment rate 15%, there was nothing bright for him to dream of. One gets placement not just because of his academic merit and skill but based on political, financial influence one can exert. Unfortunately Krishnan had neither money nor political connection to bargain for him. His father had already retired and his meagre pension of Rs. Rs. 15000 was the sole income of the family for their sustenance. Krishnan was compelled to seek some job and help his father in maintaining the family. He applied for whatever job opportunities he was eligible for—from last grade post to officer level. The government tests, interviews and appointment take much time, even years. He decided to take tuition classes for pupils and students. He had some command in English language and that helped him to take tuition classes for both school pupils and college students. He could also take classes on Social Studies but no pupil needed it. English always is nightmare for ordinary Indian students and hence there was much opportunity for him to teach them in the morning and evening before and after the school hours. From early morning till 9 am and from 4.30 pm to 8 pm Krishnan took classes in the students’ houses. He taught in a parallel college History and Economics from 10 am to 4 pm. He could earn Rs. 15,000 monthly through these classes.
Years passed one after another and Krishnan’s longing and prayer for a government job also passed unheeded by the Creator. Krishnan was now 30 and his mother became almost bed ridden due to arthritis. Fortunately father was healthy enough to manage the domestic duties of cooking, cleaning etc. The family was not in a position to keep a maid servant as it needed minimum Rs. 10000 as her monthly salary. Krishnan’s father and mother compelled him to marry but Krishnan replied:
“Dear dad, how can I afford to have another member in this family when my earning is so less? Being a self employed man I can’t expect a partner who is government employed. For ma’s treatment we need to spare some amount.”
