Prisoner of Duty

The Man walked on the densely wooded road. The clothes he wore shone with an exuberant light, as if the earth had formed around him a beautiful woven cloak. His head was bent and a sack covered his head and shoulders to protect him from the rain. His eyes were intense and looked at the road with a vehement determination. He knew where he had to reach and looked forward to the road ahead of him. He clutched a cloth bag to his chest. He seemed to be very protective of the bag, clearly not wanting to disclose its contents. The road was empty and cars moved on it infrequently. Puddles of water covered the surface and frogs croaked loudly from the wild grass growing on the sides of the road.

The lone Man continued his journey on the rainy path. As he neared the city, the city that was widely known as the ‘City of Dreams’ or Mumbai, no one looked at him. He was a man with no identity. But if anyone had spared a moment for him, they would be taken aback by the tenacity in his stare and the steel like firmness in his speech. But the city went about its business without caring for this important Man.

The Man reached the happening Malabar hill. As he started climbing up, he got a few stares. Mostly because of his attire and the mud on his face. He reached the residence of the Chief Minister of Maharashtra and went to the gate to speak to one of the guards.

‘I want to see the Chief Minister’, he told him in Marathi. The guard laughed and said, ‘I want to see Amitabh Bachchan, will you take me there’. The Man didn’t laugh or smile, he repeated his earlier statement and stood in front of the guard. The guard pushed him lightly and said, ‘Doka nako khau re. Ghari ja chal.’ (Don’t irritate me. Go home)

The Man refused to budge and the guards got irritated. The ones at the gate called a couple of more from inside the building and all of them pushed him away from the gate. They tugged at his already torn clothes and tried to snatch away his bag. The Man kicked and fought the guards but didn’t let anyone touch his bag. Finally when the guards had pushed him away to a safe distance, they sauntered back to their watch point.

The Man then sat down on the road. He folded his hands and legs and sat in a meditative posture. The guards from the various buildings continued to look at this strange Man.

The day ended and night came upon the city but the Man didn’t budge. He did not ask for water or food but only sat there in a meditative posture. Finally in the morning, a lady from a nearby building came to him and tried speaking to him. He did not open his eyes but repeated his request to meet the CM. The lady tried to convince him to go back and told him that the CM did not meet without an appointment. The Man told her that it was important. The lady sighed and said she will try to do something.

The lady, who was a reporter, spoke to her fellow colleagues from different newspapers and television partners and told them about the strange Man in front of the CM’s bungalow. A huge crowd of journalists gathered at the bungalow and surrounded the Man. The lady now spoke to him and said, ‘I have got a lot of my friends to support you. But now I need to know your purpose in order to help you out.’ The Man slowly opened his eyes. The lady was taken aback by the crystal clear resolution in his eyes. She even felt a little scared with this man of enormous will power.

He pulled out an envelope from his pocket and handed it over to the lady. ‘Please make sure that this letter reaches the CM. It is important.’ The lady asked him if she had the privilege to read it and the Man nodded.

She pulled open the letter and read its contents.

‘I am sure you are wondering who I am and why am I so insistent on meeting the CM. Why I want to meet him is something that I will only disclose to him. But I want to convey my story.

I am a farmer. My name is not important. I come from a village 450 kilometers away called Ambegaon. The 120 odd residents in my village go about their daily chores with a deathlike determination. The children fervently look at their parents and at their modest habitats. They whisper excitedly and their chatter is interrupted by joyful laughter. They live a carefree life even in the difficult circumstances. The parents work extra hard to see these smiles on their faces.

 Ambegaon has witnessed two suicides in the span of a few weeks. The dealers are looting us of our hard earned wealth. We are helpless and uneducated and fall prey to their inhumane tactics and suffer dire circumstances. The area around Ambegaon which had been naturally blessed with resources and a nurturing land is now facing tough times. Deforestation has been rampant due to excessive industrialization in the area. The water of the rivers is being routed to the industries, leaving the hundreds of small villages with almost no water supply. The villagers have lost their will to live a happy life. The weather has played havoc with our crop and combined with the meagre water supply, we are doomed. While the country mourns the deaths of the farmers, it has failed to do anything to really help us.

I am not here today to commit suicide and run away from my responsibilities. I am here to save our entire country from being doomed. We feel very proud that we provide the food on your table every day. Our profession is next to God. For that purpose alone, please allow me to meet the CM.’

The lady had tears in her eyes as she finished the letter. The group of journalists, most of them touched by the farmer’s letter and some of them in the lookout for a sensational story decided to bring his letter to their viewers. Most channels communicated the story to the masses and soon people started gathering at the front gate in support of the farmer. The news also reached the desk of the CM and he decided to see the farmer.

When the farmer heard that he had finally been summoned to see the CM, he opened his eyes and with a resolute expression proceeded to the gate. The guards again tried to frisk his bag and he retaliated. He told them that the bag had to go inside with him. After a thorough security check, he was escorted inside. The CM sat at his desk awaiting the entry of the farmer. As soon as he entered, he was offered food and drinks which he graciously refused.

‘I have read your letter and I feel very sad that such circumstances are upon the farmers of our country. As you have rightly mentioned, farmers are next to God. Please tell me what you wanted to discuss with me.’ The farmer smiled and replied, ‘Sir, can you please show me the way to your kitchen?’ The CM was taken aback and was rendered speechless.

He thought about it for a few seconds and nodded and called out to one of the servants. The servant took him to the kitchen. The CM, ever so curious at this request followed him inside. Once inside the kitchen, the farmer carefully pulled out the bag from his back and opened it. With a grave expression, he took out three bricks from his bag first. He carefully placed them horizontally on the floor. He then put his hand inside the bag again and pulled out some dry wood and sticks. He placed them between the bricks. He also took out a frying pan and placed it on the bricks.

By that time, all the inhabitants of the house had gathered in the kitchen and continued to stare at the farmer perplexed about what was happening. The farmer put his hand inside the bag and vigorously shook it. He turned the bag inside out and shook it again. The bag was empty. Only dust fell to the kitchen floor and settled there.

The personal secretary of the CM took a step closer to the bricks and looked down. He realized the farmer had made a household stove from the bricks and wood. He raised an eyebrow and looked questioningly at the farmer, the farmer stared back. He then shifted his gaze to the CM, his family and other members of the house.

‘Yes, it is a stove. But I have no fuel or food to put on this. How do you suggest I feed my family?’