AN EXCERPT FROM MY SHORT STORY UNDER COMPLETION

                                          

THE SOCIAL WORKER 

Excerpts from my Short story ' The Social Worker "  Under completion.

" When Sham Rani died, her family was overwhelmed with grief. Relatives arrived, and rituals had to be arranged. Everyone was grieving, but grief does not organise itself. Roshan Lal took charge. A priest, rice, flour, a tin of  P Mark mustard oil, a gas cylinder, 10kg potatoes, pulses, 100 bottles of packaged water (250 ml) , 10 litres of Amul Tetra Pak milk and other necessities arrived. The cremation arrangements were completed. Every ritual was performed carefully.  Usha Ji, Sham Rani's daughter in law felt grateful and obliged for  Roshan Lal's timely support. Many elderly relatives were deeply moved.

"This man has a noble soul," someone said.

"May he be present when my time comes," another replied.

Roshan Lal heard such words often. He never corrected them. Perhaps because he believed them. Perhaps because he needed them. Among those who developed the greatest faith in him was Chanda Jigir.  Before exile, she had known Bal Ji, her family priest in Kashmir. Bal Ji had never demanded anything. He performed rituals quietly and accepted whatever people offered. For Chanda Jigir, he represented trust without possession. After Bal Ji was shot dead by terrorists in the 1990s, she lost not only a priest but a connection to a world that had vanished. When she saw Roshan Lal performing Sham Rani's final rites, she believed she had found something similar. She was not looking for a man. She was looking for certainty. That is the weakness of human beings. We often do not fall in love with people themselves. We fall in love with what they appear to protect us from. Chanda Jigir feared a lonely death. She feared that her children would perform her last rites  mechanically.She feared that after leaving this world, even her farewell would reveal how alone she had become.

 

Chanda Jigir had saved Rs 25,000 from her J&K Bank family pension, though Gasha Ji, her son, kept the ATM in his purse, withdrawing Rs 15,000 each month, handing her Rs 3,000 and keeping the rest for his expenses. He was not a villain, just adding this 12000 every month to his income.   And from this3,000 rupees, she built a tense, and trembling world: birthday gifts for her daughter's grandchildren wrapped in newspaper with shaking hands, a strip of BP tablets cut day by day to last longer, an antacid  bottle every month,  a strip of Supradyn multivitamin  tablets that Dr Sarvanand had prescribed her in Kashmir.From this 3000 rupees, she had to also to spend on the  Shraddha  expenses of   her dead parents, her late husband, and  his parents.  While her son held the ATM card, Chanda Jigir  held the meaning, counting each rupee like a breath, stitching her old clothes , walking instead of an auto, saving not money but dignity, till that handkerchief-wrapped Rs 25,000 became her silent rebellion against dependence itself.

So she prepared a bag for Roshan Lal. Inside were two Kashmiri shawls, 25000 rupees in five hundred rupee notes, coins, Gangajal, incense sticks, sandalwood pieces and a white shroud. She  decided to keep the bag with Roshan Lal who lived close to late Sham Rani's house in Keertan Colony . Everything was arranged carefully. She believed she was preparing for death. In reality, she was preparing for the collapse of an illusion.The first crack appeared when she visited Usha Ji. Shw walked to Keerthana colony with the bag and entered late  Sham Rani's house . Sham Rani was her husband 's younger sister 

"Is Roshan Lal Ji well? I wanted to see him. ", she asked.

Usha Ji's expression changed."Do not mention his name here." 

Chanda Jigir was shocked." 

........... This story is under completion .

 

( Avtar Mota )

CHINAR SHADE by Autarmota is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.
Based on a work at http:\\autarmota.blogspot.com\.