Aakhir

Abu tells us about Aakhir, an unemployed, uneducated youth, who faces exploitation. An exclusive for Different Truths.

Aakhir, an unemployed youth, tall, slim, dark, aged between twenty three and twenty five was hardworking and sincere. Villagers loved him as he helped them both in rain and sun. His mother died a week after his birth, and his father married again.

He had no schooling. Step-mother sometime beat him, gave a meager meal a day. Relatives and neighbours shed tears from safe distance, lest he be a burden. His father was a nut-seller.

He had no schooling. Step-mother sometime beat him, gave a meager meal a day. Relatives and neighbours shed tears from safe distance, lest he be a burden. His father was a nut-seller. Throughout the year from one haat to another, from one fair to other he sold nuts and earned his livelihood. He often stayed away from home for a week or two, and when he came back home he behaved in the house like a thief. He never came out of his yard. His wife forbade him to mix with his neighbours. So he confined himself within his boundary. And he was happy.

Aakhir thus grew up by flying kites, playing and fighting with friends, catching birds and butterflies, stealing eggs and fruits from neighbourhoods. He was coarse and lacked grooming. Neighbours abused, complained. But who cared? His father was not at home, and step-mother was ill.

One day Aakhir turned into a mustached young man. He was industrious, helpful, and illiterate. Many of his friends joined in army, various offices in Kolkata and other cities.

One day Aakhir turned into a mustached young man. He was industrious, helpful, and illiterate. Many of his friends joined in army, various offices in Kolkata and other cities. They had wonderful wives and beautiful children. Aakhir lost his peace of mind, but he did not lose hope. Like Dickens’s Mr. Micawber Aakhir believed in luck — “something would turn up.” So he passed his days keeping himself cool. Yes, a pall of gloom and despair gripped him sometimes. But he opened eyes, saw life around, and was charmed and cheerful — a lone farmer ploughing his arid land, a rickshaw puller sweating and carrying fat babus, a cobbler mending shoes, a tailor making clothes, birds flying in the sky. He regained his strength. Life around him replenished his blood. And he dreamt.

One afternoon Aakhir was passing in his cycle through Gafur Street and he suddenly heard a call. He stopped and looked back. Chintu, his long time friend, bulky, short, half-bald man of Aakhir’s age, rushed to him from his lottery-table.

“Aakhir, I have a good news, friend,” gasped Chintu, clasping him to his breast.

“What?”

“A job.”

“Really!”

“Aakhir, Chintu is a man of one word. Keru, bring two cups of special tea. Bring a sweet paan too.”

“I don’t drink tea,” plainly said Aakhir.

‘Keru, two paans then.”

“Ok. Boss. Keep a leaf of 1 crore, ” Keru, the tea-boy shouted from the opposite.

“Take seat. Why are you standing? It’s your home. You have to change your ways. You’re uncouth, no manners, no good habits. All these go against the minimum standard and requirement of the job. But you are my childhood friend. A chance falls. Why do you let it slip?”

Aakhir nodded and quietly sat beside Chintu. A sweet-seller comes in haste, turns the leaves, and snatches a bundle in the wink of an eye.

Aakhir nodded and quietly sat beside Chintu. A sweet-seller comes in haste, turns the leaves, and snatches a bundle in the wink of an eye.

“Huh…let’s come to the point. A position has been vacant. The boy who works there leaves for Delhi. There, you know, notes are flying! Anybody can catch!” Chintu lectured blinking eyes intermittently.

“Where? Is it a garage or a restaurant?” Excitedly Aakhir asked.

“Chintu is a man of one word. He knows the value of friendship. How can I black or burn my friend’s hand?”

“Sorry friend. But I’m illiterate. Who will keep such a useless coin in his pocket?” he asked, his eyes seemed to burst in wonder.

“Sorry friend. But I’m illiterate. Who will keep such a useless coin in his pocket?” he asked, his eyes seemed to burst in wonder.

“Don’t worry friend. I’m your carrier. Give your weight and feel light as wool,” Chintu heehawed and thumped his back.

Meantime tea was served. Chintu masticated paan, and spat. As a result words were haltingly coming out his stained lips.

Manager is good, kind, a true gentleman. Moreover, he is my wife’s cousin’s. He needs an illiterate hand. Salary is not bad—Rs.2000 per month.

“Huh….Allahabad Bank of Chandpur. Manager is good, kind, a true gentleman. Moreover, he is my wife’s cousin’s. He needs an illiterate hand. Salary is not bad—Rs.2000 per month. Sunday is your own and you can do what you like,” harangued Chintu.

“But….Chandpur is a long distance,” Aakhir feebly said and scratched his head.

“You have a cycle, and I don’t think 20km up down is a hindrance to your future. Do you know many of my friends cover 200 km a day for a paltry sum? No, no, no. I don’t expect such an excuse from you,” Chintu rued and he looked dismayed.

“Friend, I’m sorry. I know I hurt you. Don’t be at cross with me,” Aakhir pleaded and ordered tea for Chintu.

I know you have no land or cattle. Your stepmother is a fat pig. Your father is dead

“Friend, today a job is a life, and for it people are selling huts, fields and cattle. But I’m not asking for such a step. I know you have no land or cattle. Your stepmother is a fat pig. Your father is dead,” Chintu agreeably continued.

“My father is not dead!” blared Aakhir.

“Why do you shout? I talk a plain truth.”

“I agree. But does he take care of you?”

“No.”

“So, he’s dead. That is my point.”

Aakhir sat silent with his drooping head. Minutes passed. Sun began to wane.

Aakhir sat silent with his drooping head. Minutes passed. Sun began to wane.

“Finish your story. I am late and I have no torch,” impatiently said Aakhir.

“Aakhir, you are my close friend. How can I ask money?  It’s too bad. But you know even a dead man opens mouth at its scent!”

“How much?”

“You are my bosom friend. How can I demand? Think and gift me what makes you please,” softly Chintu said. And next he hollered, “‘Morning’ 1 crore, ‘Dear’ 50 lakh. Who are the fortunate few?”

So at the cost of first month’s salary Aakhir got the job of a sweeper in Allahabad Bank of Chandpur. He went early in the morning and came back late in the evening.

So at the cost of first month’s salary Aakhir got the job of a sweeper in Allahabad Bank of Chandpur. He went early in the morning and came back late in the evening. Four floors, four toilets, he daily cleaned. Manager was happy with his new recruitment. No ads, no interview. But such a good hand! He never crossed, never complained, and never asked for a leave.

This way seven years passed.

Aakhir, meantime, married a girl from a neighbouring village and had a child. With his salary he could hardly manage his family. So one night his wife advised him to ask the manager for a pay hike.

Next morning Aakhir bore his wife’s word, gathered courage, and finally made his mind.

4 p.m. The bank was closed. No customers inside. The staff were checking and calculating day’s entries.

“May I come in, sir?”

“Come in,” the manager, seated in his leather chair, dryly said without raising his head from a heap of files.

“Sir.”

“Ooh.”

“Sir, if you add some extra rupees from the coming month I can save my family,” timidly Aakhir said. His eyes were teary, and voice choked. “I never ask anything for seven years but I am not alone now…I have a family…”

“Sir, if you add some extra rupees from the coming month I can save my family,” timidly Aakhir said. His eyes were teary, and voice choked. “I never ask anything for seven years but I am not alone now…I have a family…how I can…market is fiery…grocery…”

“Stop,” roared the Manager.

Aakhir lost his guts. His temple was sweaty, cheeks twitching, ears red and hot.

“You’re free. I have a long list of waiting candidates. I can buy them at lower rate. But, you’re doing fine, that’s why I keep you. Why do you still stand like a scarecrow? Have I not told you, young man, you are now free?”

Aakhir still stood there petrified.

Manager called the security guards.

Photo from the Internet