Nikhil Khasnabish

(“The Kindness of an Officer’s Wife” is a story of a schoolteacher whose pension was delayed by a corrupt officer. The story is based on real incidents. This story depicts those hundreds of teachers who fell victim to such corrupt officers. The story depicts kind gesture of the corrupt officer’s wife.)

Arnab Bezbaruah was Lakshyadhar Phukan’s student. Like all other students, he also called him Phukan-sir. Phukan-sir gave classes with appropriate attention to the students’ needs and ability. He was careful with his efforts so no students could grumble to him about being deprived. His personality towered above the headmaster’s. He commanded respect not only from his students and their guardians, but also from the common people of Barsuti and a vast radius around. Phukan-sir was a household name. If he hadn’t learned English from him at high school, he wouldn’t have been able to do Master of Artsin English at Gauhati University. He loved and respected Phukan-sir like a son respects his father.

       ‘May we get in, sir?’ Arnab parted the door-curtain of the room of Monojit Bora.

      ‘Y-e-s.’ Monojit didn’t look up.

      ‘Good morning, accountant-babu.’ Phukan-sir put the envelope containing one thousand rupees on the table.

       With his habitual obstinacy, Monojit pushed away the envelope, not looking up from the documents he was reading. After a couple of minutes, he rose from his chair, went up to Usha Das, a typist, took a tamul-paan and some wads of zarda from the paan box from her handbag, put those into his mouth, and returned to his table. From the back of the chair, he took the towel and wiped his nose and paan-stained lips. He was suffering from a cold. He didn’t ask them to sit down. Phukan-sir picked up the envelope and forced it into his hand.

      ‘How much here?’ Monojit asked, pointing to the envelope.

      ‘One thousand,’ Phukan-sir answered.

      ‘Mr Phukan, you’ll have to give me five thousand rupees. I’ll have to give a share of this money to the inspector. Without money, he won’t sign your pension papers.’ Monojit sneezed.

      ‘Does he take bribes? Our teachers say he is a very honest man,’ Phukan-sir said with a dry smile and looked at Arnab.

      ‘Then you want to say I’m a dishonest man and he’ll sign your file just when I place it on his table? Grammar can mature your language, but not your mind, sir. I must say teachers are really very stupid. They can’t do anything better than talking nonsense in correct language. So Mr Phukan, this is for your information that Mr Inspector takes bribes. Not directly. Through me. Is that clear?’

      Phukan-sir nodded. 

      ‘Don’t come to this office next time. Go to my home. In the afternoon. With the full remaining amount. Today I won’t stay in the office long.’ Monojit rubbed the tip of his nose and then, baring his paan-stained teeth, fished a fifty-rupee note out of the wallet and placed the note on the slender Bihu dancers under the tabletop glass before Phukan-sir. ‘Buy me a pack of Wills and a tamul-paan. Take tea or something you like in the restaurant on the corner and go home happily to collect the remaining money.’

      They didn’t look at the note. They looked at each other and got up. While going out, they heard Monojit cough and sneeze and then laugh out loud.

      They silently walked on towards the bus stop.

*

When Arnab rang the doorbell, Monojit answered the door, welcomed them into the sitting room, and sat on the sofa, pointing with his brows to the chairs placed side by side across from it. They sat down. He sneezed four or five times and blew his nose into the gamochha and went out to the veranda. He blew his nose hard and pressed out the running mucus with his right forefinger and thumb. Rubbing the ball of his thumb on the reddish tip of his nose, he came back to the sofa.

      A beautiful butterfly flew in from the small garden beneath the large window and rested on his left breast, its antennae wavering, proboscis coiled up. Cautiously lowering his chin, he kept looking at it. It took offa few seconds later. It repeated turns among them and beneath the calendar with the scimitar moon behind the dense, green woods before sitting on Phukan-sir left instep.

      ‘Have you brought the money?’ Monojit asked, his face growing solemn.

      Phukan-sir disregarded the question and continued smiling and observing the behaviour of the butterfly Monojit had narrowed his eyes at. What was in his eyes? Hate or anger?

      ‘Why don’t you answer my question?’ Monojit roared, glowering at Phukan-sir.

      ‘Accountant-babu, I couldn’t collect the money. I couldn’t approach my sons-in-law again. They finance my son’s college education. The marriage of one daughter is almost settled. The date will be fixed when I’ll get your assurance,’ Phukan-sir said, caressing his left cowlick.

      ‘How many daughters?’

      ‘Four.’

      ‘You enjoyed your conjugal life like a careless man.’

      The butterfly flew from Phukan-sir’s instep. It wanted to fly out. Monojit hit it with his cough-stained gamochha and it fell to the floor. He stood up and stepped on its struggles to rise to its wings. A victor’s smile glittering beneath his spiky moustache, now he sat on the corner chair. Phukan-sir stared at the scales of its crushed wings. He looked sad.

      ‘I’ll pay you the money after cashing the bill, accountant-babu,’ Phukan-sir said. 

      Monojit pressed the mucus out of his nose, jerked his hand carelessly, and the blob fell close to Arnab’s left foot. Arnab restrained himself from telling him about his manners because he knew that Phukan-sir couldn’t feed his family without getting his arrears and the pension.

      With many efforts, Arnab stood up and joined his hands like begging a pardon. ‘Sir, Bora-sir, please believe him. I guarantee he won’t move out of the town, without paying you four thousand rupees. Trust him, sir. Please try to understand his situation, sir. Please!’

      Monojit pulled the drawer open, took out the hundred-rupee notes, and threw them into Phukan-sir’s face, and Phukan-sir became motionless, his face muscles quivering as though they were broken into bits.

      ‘Get out. Get out with your money. Sala mastor! Do you think me a stupid cow? On your promise I laboured for you. And you’ve come to my home to deceive me,’ Monojit shouted.

      The pet dog of a low breed ran into the room, following the shouting. It looked at Monojit, sniffed at his feet, brushed its upturned tail against his legs, and then lay at his feet, with the defiant display of its grey balls. Arnab picked up the notes, then sternly looked at Monojit, the notes poking out of his fist. He would’ve knocked Monojit down to Phukan-sir’s feet, if he hadn’t visualized a mountain of problems surrounding Phukan-sir’sfamily. Phukan-sir kept standing opposite Monojit, his eyes glistening, nostrils swelling, head drooping. Renewed layers of anxieties caused deep furrows in his brows. It wasn’t a favourable situation. He remained composed.

      ‘Why have you come here? What do you want here? Have you forgotten my instructions? Get out!’ Monojit roared as soon as a woman anxiously pounded into the room.

      ‘Why are you shouting at these gentlemen?’ She angrily slapped his hand away.

      Phukan-sir turned to her.

      ‘Sir, you’re here!’ Anima said.

      ‘Anima Dutta of Sunjuri. Right?’

      ‘Yes, yes, I’m Anima, sir.’

      Arnab saw the ray of hope and let out a sigh of relief.

      Phukan-sir failed to check his emotions and covered his face with his palms. Arnab put the notes in Phukan-sir’s hand. The notes slipped off to the floor. Phukan-sir looked distant. His lips trembled. No words formed. Was he now ready to run away from the debris of his prestige and dignity and go back to the world of his problems and needs and complaints and hunger and poverty? Did he now silently scold himself for stooping down to Monojit? Arnab stopped thinking and turned his head to look at Anima when he heard her beseeching voice.

      ‘Sir, please forgive us. Forgive my husband. Please forgive him, sir.’ Anima threw herself at his feet.

      Phukan-sir bent down to hoist her from his feet. Monojit kicked her behind with the demonstration of his vile temper and she fell forward.

      ‘You’re worse than this dog, you bloody scoundrel! You Monojit!’ Phukan-sir said with minatory gestures, his voice shaking.

      ‘Get out, you sala badmash. You curse me in my room!’ Gnashing his teeth, Monojit thrust Phukan-sir out so hard that Phukan-sir landed on his bottom.

      Arnab wedged himself between them. Phukan-sir picked himself up. Anima faced her husband.

      ‘You’ve touched his body? You nasty corrupt man, you’ve pulled our sir to this level. Even animals hate to look at the people who hate teachers. You enlarge your account with teachers’ money. How can you understand the importance of this profession? This profession is a profession of sacrifice. A profession of nation building. A profession of propagating culture and civilization. A man like you can’t understand the importance of this profession. Lie prostrate on his feet right now and beg his forgiveness.’ She wiped her face on the end of her chador.

      Monojit sneezed, blew his nose, pressed its tip, and let the mucus dribble on where the ants had gathered to feast on the remains of the butterfly.

      ‘I don’t blame this situation on Monojit. Only Monojit isn’t committing corruption in society. He is only an example.’ Phukan-sir picked the hem from upon Anima’s eyes and wiped them with his palms. He hurried out of the room.

      Arnab followed him.

      ‘Sir, sir, your money, sir,’ Anima called loud and came out.

      They didn’t stop. They didn’t slow down.

      ‘Sir, do teachers serve all life to get their prestige and dignity bashed after their retirement like this?’ Arnab asked in a low voice.

      Phukan-sir gulped and gave him a blank look. Arnab ran his tongue over his lips and looked ahead at the T-turn of the lane.