RECENTLY, renowned fiction Hindi writer Dr. Sushil Kumar Phull’s one of the most widely acclaimed short stories `Hori Ki Vaapsi’ find place in a Hindi Text Book, ‘Kahani Gulshan’, of University of Kerala. This story satirically exposes the exploitation of farmers at all levels and the incongruities of the police and the politicians. It has already been translated into many languages, including English, Malyalam, and Oriya. It was acclaimed as one of the best stories at national level by Kamleshwar in Bhasker Rachana Parv. Dr. Phull has more than 50 books published to his credit. He has already won the State Literary Award and also HP Academy Award twice for his novels and short stories. On a special request made by City Air News, Dr. Phull has sent this story to us for our Readers. EDITOR
Here’s the heart touching story:
Return of the Hori
He sat on the left bank of the river Beas. Completely exhausted. Intermittently he would take out a handful of angora wool from his gunny bag and throw it into the turbulent waters. It disappeared in no time. He felt as if he had been thrown into the turbulent waters. He was caught in the murky cobweb of powers that be. Just like a leopard caught in a booby trap laid by the hunters.
The mountains were receiving heavy bouts of snow and the valley had suddenly grown cold. It was the time, in fact, when the shepherds living in the upper ranges of snowy mountains of Himachal would start migrating to lower hills along with their flock of sheep. It was an annual feature to come down the mountains before the onset of the winter and to migrate back at the start of summers in May. The whole exercise was part of their search for greener pastures for their flock.
The caravan of Gaddis (nomad shepherds) would include hundreds of sheep and goat, watch dogs, besides a horse and a mule carrying their domestic kitchens. They would stop anywhere in the open for the night unmindful of the vagaries of nature……The head shepherd with the lamb in his shawl will march on with his Hubble bubble. Instinctively, the shepherd would eke a sound ‘Hoosh, hoosh…’ a slang meaning thereby that the flock should go on and on.
While sitting on the bank of the river, Rama Kant felt as if someone was chasing him making a similar sound ‘Hoosh, hoosh’. He saw behind but there was no one. The shepherd also looked back. May be he also heard a similar sound that disturbed him. How sturdy and determined the tribals are, he thought. The entire Universe is their home. How sweet to live under the roofless sky.
The ‘Hoosh, hoosh’ sound had stuck with his ears. As if someone was driving him from behind like a horse whose reigns were in other hands. The poor fellow.
There were streams of people coming to see his newly established farm. In fact, many of the visitors had not ever seen domesticated angora rabbits in this part of the country. Most of them, however, were conversant with the hares that dominated the Greek fables written by Aesop or the didactic Panchtantra tales by the Indian author Pandit Vishnu Sharma.
“How lovely’” exclaimed a lady visitor. “Where did you get these from? They are so white,” she said.
“From Germany.
“I see. How much does it cost?”
“One thousand rupees a piece.”
“So costly?”
In the meanwhile more visitors poured in, mostly from the plains. And then the endless question-answer session began.
“How much wool does a single rabbit grow?”
“Approximately one kilogram annually.”
“Uncle what is its optimum life span?” a curious child would ask.
“Six to eight years.”
Then someone would ask, “What is its litter size?”
“Four to twenty kids at a time.”
This would surprise them. Twenty at a time, it meant twenty thousand bucks delivered. And on an average 100 rabbit babies from one doe in a year. Ah what a short cut to riches over night, someone would express his astonishment. Another curious visitor would suggestively comment, “Can’t they be raised in the plains? Tell me the way out. There is no tax on farm produce. The rabbits will convert the black money into our white treasure. We shall not have to run after people for fictitious loans then.”
Rama Kant would tell them seriously that it required a temperature ranging from 10 degrees to 26 degrees to raise the rabbits. The German angora rabbits enjoy cold climate. And if they were to be raised in hot climate, artificial cold conditions will have to be created and maintained. But the production of wool per animal would be comparatively much less. The enthusiast in the audience would blurt out, “Sir, you are so simple. You have not followed me. We just want to convert our black money into the white. Please give me ten pairs.”
He would feel on top of the world. After all he had taken the right decision. When he had passed out from the University with Bachelor’s degree in Veterinary and Animal Sciences, his well wishers pressed upon him to join the government service. It was the easiest and the surer way to watch one’s interest. Moreover majority of the hill people either joined the Army or went for other government jobs. The educated lot kept waiting for entry into jobs even for years together. The holdings of the farmers were so small that they were unable to sustain the families.
Initially Rama Kant had also thought of joining some private concern but his father suggested that he should go for his independent enterprise as any job was symbolic of subordination and slavery. And in the hills, transfers to difficult areas at the behest of politicians were a common practice. That always made things worse for the affected persons. After a great deal of thinking, he had thought of establishing a poultry farm but when he found that he would have to deposit rupees two lakh as seed money in order to raise loans from the bank, he dropped the idea. He wanted to start his enterprise with the minimum of investment. So he established a German Angora Rabbit Breeding farm with a unit of 8+2 rabbits. And within a year, he had more than hundred fifty rabbits at his farm.
One day the state director of Animal Husbandry called him and advised, “You are a qualified Veterinary Doctor. There is no scope in rabbit breeding. Why don’t you come and join the department. Even the lamb wool has no future. Decide and come. Don’t waste time.
“Sir, the government advises young people to go for self-employment.”
“It is all publicity, politics of votes. Just to brainwash the people.”
“Sir, kindly get me a few pure strain German Angora Rabbits from the government farm. May be just five in number, I will manage rest of the things for myself,” he implored.
“It is not possible. Only the Animal Husbandry Minister is empowered to allow that. Moreover you do not fall in his constituency.”
Rama Kant looked at him with disdain but did not say anything.
Rama Kant felt someone was following him with the sound ‘Hoosh, hoosh.’
The elections to the State Assembly were approaching fast. A number of packages were announced by the government to lure the voters.
They were trying to woo the farmers also. A slogan had caught the fancy of the people: Work for every hand and drinking water for every home. Rice for four annas a kg and wheat flour at two annas per kg. The manifestoes declared that there would be support price for farm produce and also market intervention scheme for other commodities. He was encouraged when the department people came to buy angora wool from his farm. The payment was made on the spot. They also provided rabbit feed. But it was only for once. Never to be repeated.
There were now heaps of wool at his farm. It was a problem to store the wool in large quantities. The shepherds and rabbit breeders were in a quandary. When they started uniting to safe guard their interests, the concerned Minister asked them not to worry at all. He said, “You store the wool for the time being and when the rates go up, you sell it. The department is with you. To eradicate this problem, the government has decided in principle to save the farmers from exploitations. A wool federation is going to be set up soon. Its annual budget would be not less than two crores.”
They came to know that the Chairman of the Federation had already been appointed. A person who had lost his security deposit in the recent assembly elections was now tipped as chairman. He was itching to enter the assembly but wanted to grab some position that would help him in active electioneering. Though he himself was an apple orchadist but it was made to publicise that he would keenly safeguard the interests of the wool producers. Rama Kant thought that the entire social system had gone corrupt. The officials have already been appointed which would mean, a huge exchequer on their salaries and perks. The farmers were the last priority. It was a somersault to accommodate the dissidents. Soon after assuming the office, the Chairman convened a meeting of sheep breeders. He went philosophical and said, “You have been tending sheep for generations together. You know how to spin wool even while walking on a road. It is, in fact, in your blood. You should produce your own goods. It will fetch you better dividends. No doubt, the Wool Federation will definitely purchase lamb wool, may be at a slightly less rate. They say it was sold at sixty rupees but now we won’t be able to pay more than sixteen rupees per kilogram.
‘But I can’t understand one thing. Rabbit rearing is a new venture. It has been adopted by the rich. Angora wool sells fifty times higher than the lamb wool. You are simpletons. Why do you plead their case. We can’t allocate the entire budget for them. In fact, it is for you, the nomads of hills.
“And more over you are not dying of hunger. You are not eating mango stones like the starving Orrisa people do. Moreover the Union Agriculture Minister at the Centre is from this hill state. You know food stocks are rotting in godowns throughout the country. It is a sign of national prosperity.”
After a pause, the Chairman continued, “Hard luck. Now the Election Commission of India has issued a notification for the assembly elections and a code of conduct has come into operation. No announcement, no decision can be taken, otherwise I would have announced an immediate raise in the procurement price of lamb wool.” Most of the shepherds present there shook their heads like sheep. But Julfee could not restrain himself and said, “I can’t make what you mean. There is contradiction somewhere. It is all confusion. You are Chairman of the Federation. How does the code of conduct affect you Sir?”
The Chairman said, “Julfee ram, you will not understand the intricacies. Suppose the government changes tomorrow. I will not be the Chairman. So I am inclined to contest elections for the Legislative Assembly. This is the point.”
Julfee Ram smiled with an evident grain of contempt. He felt like spitting on his faceHow ridiculous. The Minister has a number of hotels at tourist spots. He adds storeys to them every year. And here my flock is shrinking day by day. The irony of migrating to lower hills in winter and the journey back on the onset of the summers.
Disbelief was writ large on his face. He felt like a sacrificial lamb at the altar.
The wily Animal Husbandry Minister then invited the Angora rabbit Breeders on another day. He said, “You are all rich people. Angora wool sells at premium rates. The shawls made of Angora wool sell like hot cakes and that to at higher prices. May I suggest, you hoard wool like business men. And when there is scarcity, you can sell it at exorbitant rates. The big businessmen exploit the market and earn to their advantage. Don’t let the opportunity slip away.”
An agitated poor rabbit-breeder interrupted, saying, “There is nothing to feed rabbits. And you are talking of hoarding wool.”
“Let them graze in the open.”
“Foolish.” Rama Kant mumbled. How cunning and ignorant the Minister was. Instead of solving the problems, he was teaching them to cheat. A big fraud.
Posing to be a messiah of farmers, the Minister said, “The times have come when we should go for diversification of crops. The farmers cannot survive on one crop. Apart from rabbit rearing, you should go for cultivation of flowers, raise honey-bees and also try fisheries. The way to earn is quite simple but you have to take initiative. You will be rich in no time.”
Rama Kant was bored with polemics of the Minister, who was simply suggesting nonsensical things. He had already tried sericulture, floriculture but since there was no proper marketing facility, the small farmers invariably suffered losses. It was easier said than done.
Had he opted for a government job, he would have been much relieved earning at least twenty to twenty five thousand. There is no management worth the name in the state. The farmers are committing suicides even in rich states like Punjab and Kerala, but the government simply denies the facts attributing these deaths to family feuds. But what about the suicide notes found. The farmers ended their lives because they could not repay the bank loans taken for progressive farming. The leaders talk about the likes of Horis found in the novels of great Hindi writer Munshi Prem Chand. The return of the Hori disturbs Rama Kant. Hori worked like a donkey throughout his life but the crops were always harvested by the money lender as Hori was not able to pay the increasing interest on the amount taken by him years ago. When the hero of Prem Chand’s novel nears death, he wants to give a cow in the charity to the Brahmin or two annas in lieu of that but he is not allowed to do so. Rama Kant was enacting the profile of Hori in the modern times. How clever the politicians are, he thought. He felt as if someone was driving him from behind saying “Hoosh, hoosh…” Nothing will change, he murmured. Sir Chhotu Ram, the champion of farmers is no more. He was the man who reminded the farmers to care for their headgears 9turbans), a symbol of their respect but these lotus, politicians are made up of stuff that smacks only of self promotion at the expense of the public. The crooks. There was no way out. The farmers will have to do something themselves.
But there were no buyers for angora wool. Not even the government department bothered about it. His store was full. It had started stinking. He called a part at Amritsar on phone. The prospective buyer had rang him up a few days ago. Rama Kant was hopeful. He told that he would supply the wool then and there. It was ready in stock.
“Please do transport it to Amritsar. I can’t come. I am busy awfully. However, I will pay the cartage etc.”
“Rate per kg?”
Only after physically verifying I could say but you will not be a loser. Rest assured.”
“I bring it tomorrow by mid noon.”
“You com any time. I shall be in the factory up to six in the evening.”
Rama Kant heaved a sigh of relief. He would be able to dispose bulk of the wool. He hired a Tata Sumo and loaded it with bags full of wool. He started early at six in the morning.
He reached the exit barrier of the hill state. The officers at the barrier certified that the farmers’ produce was free from any excise or any other tax. As soon as he crossed into the Punjab state, the excise and taxation authorities checked his papers and said, “Yes, you can go. The item is exempt from any tax. The farmers should have at least this exemption.” Rama Kant felt elated and obliged.
He had covered only a distance of 5 to 7 kilometers, when a Police Gypsy signaled him to stop.
The vehicle had come to a stop. They were checking the relevant papers.
“He has jumped the barrier,” one of the policeman said.
“Sir, I had shown all the papers to them. They had allowed me to go ahead. It is a tax free produce.”
“But why did you not get it verified on the papers you have. Stamping is a must.”
Sir,” he implored, almost beggingly. The police here is so harsh and the hill policeman, how simple and helping, he thought.
“The same barrier men have sent a message to us on mobile.” He was told.
Hori was caught in another kind of noose. It was not the moneylender’s but that of the police. He said, “Sir, I did show the papers to the police there and they cleared me.”
“Look here, we are also duty bound. Elections are not held being in the hill state alone. Here, in Punjab also, the state will go to elections after a couple of months.” One of the policemen explained. “We have also been given a target by our government. We have to collect twenty five lac rupees in one month. From where should we get this money. We must snatch it from people like you. We don’t differentiate between a thief and a saint. We must complete our targets. If you don’t want to be harassed, just hand over fifty thousand rupees,” the Excise and taxation Inspector said in an obliging tone.
“Fifty thousand?”
“Yes, fifty thousand only.”
“I don’t have even five thousand in my pocket. Sir, it is a tax free item.”
“Elections are never tax free. We know how to achieve our targets. That enables us to get promotion, in turn.”
“Please have pity on me,” Rama Kant said almost weepingly. He felt as if he was being treated as a sacrificial lamb…They would flay his skin even.
“If you don’t have money, does not matter. Off load the vehicle and we shall sell the wool and convert it into money,” the officer with frightening moustaches ordered.
The policemen swung into action and soon emptied the vehicle leaving only one bag behind.
Hori turned Rama Kant fainted and fell on the ground.
(Translated from Hindi by the Author.)