Translated short story from the book: ‘Nimnno Porob’
Author: Late Devidas Babay
Translator: Aditi Budkuley
“Who is there? Can anyone do it?” Khapu was peeved on hearing these concluding remarks of the Sarpanch. He threw a glance over all the heads that had assembled. Everybody was silent, only the Sarpanch spoke –
“The Panchayat will offer a sum of two thousand rupees. A thousand rupees now and the remaining after the kill. Speak up … Say now …!”
“I’m here. I can do it!” as Khapu suddenly rose to announce this, all eyes turned towards him. Khapu, who had been more than a match for the whole of the village put together, told the Sarpanch, “Toss me the one grand. I’ll kill Nandi.”
Sarpanch was well acquainted with Khapu’s nature. He reached for the money. Stuffing the wad of notes into the pocket of his shorts, Khapu turned to go. Without a backward glance, he was on his way.
With every step the crackle-crack sound of his footwear could be heard for a while. But all that Khapu could see before him was Nandi. He already had a grouse with Nandi. An old score needed to be settled. And Khapu had got that very opportunity today. A stack in his pocket and Nandi in his head.
Nandi! The last animal from Narsu’s cattle shed. The jet black, hugely overgrown bull! Actually, he was named Kabro. But his frame closely resembled the pitch black stone Nandi-bull at the Maati Mahadeva temple and so the villagers would insist on calling him Nandi. He had been the source of harassment to the entire village. It would be tough to find a bloke whom Nandi had not shoved up on his horns. He had tyrannised the whole of the village. Ruining everybody’s fields and farms as he chose, attacking anyone who tried to drive him away. The village was fed up with his arrogance and unruliness.
Owing to this very Nandi, poor Narsu had been subjected to countless curses and even thrashing from the villagers. Exasperated, he sold all of his livestock. But no-one was willing to take Nandi. Ultimately, Narsu had declared, “Kill him or sell him to a butcher.” That is when this issue reached the Panchayat.
The Sarpanch convened the Panchayat meeting and offered a sum of two thousand rupees as reward to anyone who would kill Nandi. And Khapu had picked up the gauntlet. Khapu! Khapu Porob! The last light of the Porob clan, whose extinction the village was eagerly awaited. The last Porob of the cursed Porob lineage. The household which, for several years, held sway over this village. Tyrannising it, bullying it and oppressing the village under the clutches of feudal Bhatkarponn (landlordship).
Perhaps, it was uncceptable to God anymore. And the family drew some kind of a curse! Some wrath! Every single sprout of this clan right down to its roots was wrecked. Not even a relation, they could call their own, survived. It ended up being barren. The only survivor was this last Porob, Khapu. Cat eyed. With a curly mane and a beak-like nose. His hairy moustache almost covered his lips. Six feet tall. Hefty like a log of the Khadira tree. One capable of making his adversary see stars in the day with one smack. Wearing leather footwear. Having the habit of smoking a bidi through the fist of his left hand. A usual attire of a shirt and a pair of shorts. A can’t-care-less attitude towards others. No deference towards anyone. Khapu metted out much more injustice and harassment to the villagers than generations of his clan together would have been capable of attaining. That is why, the village keenly awaited the moment when Khapu would finally shut his eyes for good.
Khapu too was fully aware of the moment which the village awaited. But, ‘so long as this last Porob is alive, the village shall not have the freedom of breathing easy’, had been the singular resolve that had kept Khapu going. However, the words people uttered behind his back made Khapu collapse from within, although he never showed it. I am the last Porob. After me, there will be no Porob left to reign over this village, was the singular thought that ate into his mind.
He had touched forty-one years of age. Four years since his marriage, the hope of a sprout in his clan no longer persisted. And therefore, the village had come to doubt his manhood. Now not another Porob will be born to persecute us in this village, was the thought that relieved the village.
Khapu had also come to fully understand this. Just as the joists of his outwardly grand looking two-storeyed mansion were eaten away by the termites; so was the condition of his body. With the excess of liquor and the wounding words of the village; Khapu, who had spread like a parasite all over the village, seemed to have collapsed from within. Yet Khapu had studied the pulse of the village as well. As long as he walked around puffed up with pride the village eyes would bow to the ground in his presence.
‘This village would heave a sigh of relief once the last Porob is finished’ was the thought that pierced his heart, as he too had given up any hope of the Porob clan throwing up a new shoot. However, while the village raised doubts of about his manhood, he knew the real reason for the lack of an issue only too well. He was fully aware of all the particulars about his wife, who had undergone vegetal cleansing of her womb thrice before marriage. He had now ceased to brood over such details. While the village had much to gossip about his wife. Stuff like, she has illicit relations with the labour hired to work at the plantations. But Khapu never seemed to bother about that. In spite of having known all about her, Khapu had agreed to the marriage. He did so on the one condition that his in-laws will help release all the farms and fields that had been mortgaged by his predecessors. And so it was done. Else he would have wandered a destitute. And people would have got a further chance to jeer at him.
Due to their obsession with women and liquor, the Porob clan had had to mortgage all their landed property. Khapu too didn’t lag far behind in this pursuit. Perhaps, a couple of steps ahead even. This last Porob had brought an city-female to his mansion. He had completely succumbed to her guiles.
But that city-woman did not last too long in that cursed house. One fine day, grabbing the opportunity at hand she eloped taking her belongings and whatever she could lay her hands on in Khapu’s house. For fear of public humiliation, Khapu sealed his lips. And got married, against his will, as that would facilitate the release of his fields and farms.
With the crackle of his leather footwear, Khapu stepped into Nillu’s tavern. He brought out a bidi from his pocket. Lighted it with a match. Grasped it in his fist. Sat on the bench smoking. There were a couple of other people also seated there. They cowered in their seats.
“A quarter!”, Khapu ordered.
“Feni, is it not?”, Nillu asked.
“What else do you get here, you son of a *itch?”
Nillu promptly poured out a peg of cashew feni and placed it before him. Khapu sipped. Striving to smile Nillu asked,
“So what has been decided, Bhatkara?”
“I’ll kill Nandi!”
“Oh good! Good riddance to one. When’ll that be Bhatkara?”
“Morrow!”
“Tomorrow?”
“If not… when? Do I wait for your mother’s delivery? Go, fetch me another quarter, to take along! Son of a *itch!”
Khapu was enraged. Nillu wasted no time in filling him the quarter. Khapu stuffed the bottle in his pocket. Tossed the money at the counter and took a drag of his bidi as he started out. He walked on. He crossed the hedge-gate to reach the plantations. And continued to walk taking long strides. He reached his mansion. At the rear entrance a labourer was chopping logs of wood with an axe and Khapu’s wife was ogling at him with desire.
He reached the top floor in a couple of strides. Placed the quarter on the table. Brought out a glass. Poured the feni. And sat sipping it. An airgun hung by the hanger on the wall. Khapu’s eyes lay on it. He remembered Nandi.
Nandi dies tomorrow. He reminisced about Zaii, who had gone to her mother’s home two years ago. Once she hears of Nandi’s killing, Zaii will realize what Khapu
Porob is all about…
Zaii! His thoughts had run from Nandi to Zaii. Khapu simultaneously bore a grudge against both of them. Awaiting the satisfaction of a revenge.
Zaii! The wife of bedridden Eku. Like the Saanvarbonni variety of banana plant awaiting its fruition! A taut body untouched by a man! A fair, voluptuous squirrel! The only woman in the village one could point out as attractive. Every single man in the village gulped hard with desire at the thought of her. But she fell for none. A very capable woman, she was.
(To be continued…)
