The Treasure Trove

By Subhadeep Santra

The Story dates back to the British Empire. Thanks to the British Empire the agriculture industry in India was gloomy. Heavy taxes had turned many commercial farmers into subsistence farming. Draughts here and there only made the transition painful. One such pain stricken farmer was Bhimsen. This man, having gradually sunken deep into the colonial gift of poverty, was bed ridden at the age of 55. With male life expectancy hovering around 50 at the time he would sometimes wonder if he should actually celebrate that he survived longer midst blood sucking white skinned self proclaimed saviours of India. It is not that Bhimsen was not sad. He was sorry for his son Harun. Harun was a simpleton. He could be fooled easily. Moreover, adding to the trouble was his worst quality of being hard working. Hard work may lead to constructive growth but when a simpleton is hard working it is a recipe for exploitation.

Harun was working day and night at the farm land. He had to put extra effort during the soil tillage as he was not as talented as his father. His sincerity made up for the lack of talent and months of hard labour bore results. However, it was still time to reap the harvest. Farmers generally pray for the mercy of God during the period between sowing and harvesting. They pray for the fear of flood, lack of rain, pests and locusts, and British officers. However, Bhimsen did not agitate the almighty too much with prayers because, one, the rain smiled at them mildly but not wildly, two, it was useless to pray for the British.

Only one month was left for the harvest to begin. Harun was excited because it was the first time that he farmed the land all by himself without the hands on guidance, instruction and help by his father. He wished his father to recover soon as he was getting some rest now. Perhaps he perceived relaxation to be a very sparsely available and effective medicine. Though he was partly correct, he understood soon that Bhimsen was resting to rest in peace. Harun had sobbed his heart out when Bhimsen lay on the bed with his lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. Harun had wept not only for the loss of his father but also by the apprehension that a poor farmer of the British India would generally leave behind poverty and hunger, for the bereaved to mourn. Bhimsen, all the same, left behind a legacy of burden for his son.

The burden was disclosed soon after the cremation.

****

A man wearing a clean dhoti but a contaminated smile stood glaring at Harun. He was adjusting the broken umbrella to save himself from the drizzle. It was not that he was afraid to get wet. He seemed to protect the bag of groceries he was carrying home. He was so busy protecting it that he did not notice Kuntal smiling at him.

Kuntal cried out “Seems you do not really care to greet your well wishers.” Harun had already passed Kuntal when he heard the comment. He looked back and smiled with surprise. The smile faded quickly even though Harun tried to retain it. Smile had been very mischievous for Harun. His smile never stayed long when there is a protocol to smile. On the rather hand his smile lingered all over his face when there is no compulsion to do so. Therefore Harun had admired Kuntal for his ability to hold a broad polluted smile till eternity. He was the man who could kill somebody at one moment and smile at the corpse at the next moment thanking himself that he was instrumental in helping the dead in attaining salvation. Harun stood there for a few seconds admiring his smile.

Kuntal was annoyed, “Stop staring at me! And listen to what I need to say.”

Harun nodded gesturing his attention. Kuntal asked “Do you know that your father had taken loan from the zamindar?”

Harun stood in awe. Kuntal raised his hand obstructing Harun from speaking “Do not care to answer that boy. I get it all from your face. You DO NOT know. Is it not lad?” Harun only nodded in approval. “Ah! You see. It is not very hard to read faces for an experienced middle aged man like me” Kuntal said so while caressing his thin yet prominent half white moustache. He continued “Our generous zamindar granted the loan and an agreement was made. He had bought a land with the money. It is the same 2 acre land where I saw you working the last month. An agreement was made whereupon it was agreed that your father would transfer the ownership of the land to the zamindar if he could not pay the amount with interest in full. And Guess what? Your father died before he could pay his last instalment! So the land now belongs to the zamindar.”

Harun stood silent. He grabbed his bag of groceries with his two hands bringing it close to the chest. In the process his grip of the umbrella was loosened. The umbrella tilted away a little exposing him to the rain drops. The rain drops made a detour through the corner of his eyes before falling in the ground. It compensated for the lack of tears. “Could not I pay the last instalment?” he questioned coldly as if contemplating the manifestation already.

“Poor boy!” mocked Kuntal, “You know nothing of the law and nothing of business. We must obey the contract. There was no provision of payment by the heir of the debtor. However you have reasons to cheer up. I convinced the Zamindar to allow you to keep the harvest this year. Zamindar is very generous himself but the rich are generally reluctant to evoke their benevolence until some flattery provokes the deeply hidden yet glowing kindness within. I am glad that I was the catalyst of this kindness bestowed upon you by the zamindar. Are you not happy Harun?”

Harun could not say anything because he could not decide whether or not to feel happy that the man who deprived his livelihood has allowed him to have his last meal. Harun shook his head in good bye and left. The umbrella was still tilted. Harun did not bother to straighten it.

It is human nature to cry at a loss but become speechless at a shock. Harun was speechless when he heard of the misfortune in broad daylight. He might have cried during the midnight when the lamp in his hut had extinguished for want of more fuel. The world did not see him crying. The dilapidated pillow however, was drenched in his agony of pain.

***

Harun did not get ample time to lament over the loss. The Zamindar was brisk in sending bulky bodied goons to the land. In a couple of days a not so physically strong bamboo barrier enclosed the 2 acres of the land. The Zamindar did not fence the area with wire to allow Harun harvest the crop.

One of the goons who caressed his big fat moustache now and then was stationed permanently at the field. The others left shortly after the fencing was over. This man named Pramod would sport his moustache even more when he saw Harun passing by the field. Harun however would not notice Pramod. It is this innocent ignorance of Harun that made Pramod grew anxious. He was so anxious that he kept staring at Harun all day when he harvested the crops. Alas! Harun did look up to gauge the stare. It was past noon that Pramod was unable to bear the ignorance.

After all, he took great pains to grow an intimidating moustache and here is the man who does not even look at it, let alone being afraid. He walked quickly towards Harun and stumbled upon something. He fell straight to the ground. Harun had initially offered his hand for help but post a quick glance at his own gait and then the health of the other; he withdrew his hand and chose to be a spectator.

Pramod stood up and dusted both his dress and ego. He frowned at Harun. He needed no reason to do so except that he was conditioned by society to frown at the lower caste. One needs to stretch the grey matters to discover logic onto everything. Pramod had spent much time on his body and moustache leaving little time for the nurture of the brain.

None the less, he gathered his senses, the little that he had, and frantically started searching on the ground for materials that may be protruding through the earth and that which caused his great downfall. Pramod took a minute to locate the upheaval. It was a big round object mostly immersed in the ground with holes here and there.

“It seems to be a broken pot. Do you think there could be some treasure in it?” Harun did not reply. Though Pramod had fickle of excitement in his eyes and voice, Harun did not reflect the same emotion rather he showed no emotion. Pramod called Harun, “Hey lad! Do you have a saw? Get me one.” Harun lived nearby. He returned with a saw after several minutes gasping for breath. “What took you so long?” reprimanded Pramod literally snatching the saw from him. Then he thought for a sprint second. “Why should I dig the ground when I have a labour here? Dig the ground lad.” He commanded bringing a certain sombre to the tone but meekly smiling from the corner of the lips. It was a style he had imitated from the zamindar.

Harun started the digging. As time flew the cavity on the ground broadened with each stroke of the saw. The holes in the pot grew prominent. After a handful of strokes more he dropped the saw and gazed fearfully at the pot. Pramod also got a clear glimpse of the pot.

“It is not a pot.” He said closely observing “That is the cavity for the EYES, that is the NOSTRIL hole..THIS IS A SKELETON!”He had yelled so loud that the pedestrians gathered complete knowledge of the existence of a skeleton without having to eavesdrop.

***

The news spread like a forest fire. The British police in charge Mr Oliver Smith visited the place with his Indian subordinates. The skeleton was unearthed completely and loaded into a van. Earlier the Indian subordinates were about to load the skeleton on to the jeep but the officer rebuked “It is found underneath the ground. It was probably a dark skinned Indian. Put it on a van and let a villager ride the van till the morgue.” A van was arranged with alacrity.

Harun stood glaring at the skeleton as it was loaded to the van. He remembered at once that his father once told him “Skin colour is skin deep”. He understood the words now. The white skeleton with no skin at all was now termed as the ‘Dark Skinned’. Engrossed in thoughts Harun did not notice that a dark skinned Indian had rode away with the van already.

***

The Zamindar swayed his body with the movement of the armchair. He could spend hours gazing at the lawn adjacent to the veranda. The veranda was filled with smoke yet he continued to mesmerise his senses with the continuous puff at the hookah. The gargling sound of the hookah was accompanied by whirls of smoke flying in the air. Midst the fog an ear jarring sound annoyed the Zamindar. Somebody was coughing his heart out.

“Why don’t you quit smoking hujoor(sir)? It is not good for your health.” Spoke a figure that emerged from behind the fog in a silver dhoti and black Kurta. “Oh! Ratanlal you should only care for your own health. It can be very unhealthy to give me advises.”

Ratanlal smiled as if he has already anticipated the reaction. “I have some news for you that is actually unhealthy for all of us” Zamindar Jaywant Pandia grew inquisitive. “Break it fast”

Ratanlal continued “Do you remember the skeleton that was found in Harun’s land?” When Zamindar looked at him with fierce eyes he corrected himself “Sorry, I mean in YOUR land?” He continued as the Zamindar inhaled another puff of the hookah signalling a ‘yes’ that only Ratanlal could understand, “The skeleton do not belong to a normal human. They are calling it something ‘ne der thal man’ or something like that. It is a very old man.-Very very old man.” “How old exactly?” asked the Zamindar. “My man at the police station confirmed that it is more than thousand years old.” “How can a man live for thousand years?” laughed the Zamindar. “NO..NO..he DIED thousand years ago.” Replied Ratanlal.

Zamindar now put his hookah aside. This was something new for him. He asked “How do they know this is the ‘ne...ne de tha..whatever man?”, “They tallied it with a photograph of a similar specimen that was discovered by some Dutch called Phillip Charles some fifty years ago.” Replied Ratanlal.

“So how are they going to conduct an autopsy on this one? The Zamindar questioned. Ratanlal answered, “The police will not conduct autopsy. The skeleton would go to the Archaeological department. They shall keep it forever, conducting experiments.”

Zamindar was engrossed in wayward thoughts for a while. Then he suddenly asked, “I remember you said something about being unhealthy or sort? How does this news harm me?”

Ratanlal sighed as if giving the Zamindar the time to prepare his ears, “The agricultural land will now become the property of the Archaeological department. We shall lose the land.”

Zamindar gasped “What?” He added after the pause of a second or so “Is there anything that we could do about it. You have such great relations with the British officer. Work out something.”

Ratanlal smiled “Flattery is no relationship hujoor (Sir). Moreover, I have no contacts within the archaeological department except one. But it is not that I have no solution.”

“Come to the point Ratan”, commanded the Zamindar.

Ratanlal narrated “You had confiscated the land from Harun because his father was unable to pay his debt. The unpaid debt along with interest amounted to less than 5 rupees. You denied repayment offer by Harun and therefore the cost of the land to you is 5 rupees only. Now if the archaeological department ceases the land you lose 5 rupees..”

Zamindar chirped in “..and the opportunity to earn from the land produce annually.”

Ratanlal continued “Why don’t we sell the land before the archaeological department takes it over?

Zamindar inquired, “How can we sell such a property. Isn’t it ceased by the police?

Ratanlal answered, “The police will release the land because it is not a criminal case anymore. The police should have transferred the property to the archaeological department directly BUT they say there is no such provision. I am sure there must be one but the local officers are not interested in digging dip. They shall simply wait for the police to release the land and this department would confiscate the land from the owner himself.”

“How does that help?” asked the Zamindar.

Ratanlal replied “I shall bribe somebody at the archaeological department to delay the documentation at their end and we shall sell the land in the gap we earn.”

Zamindar smiled, “I must admit you are quite cunning at finding loopholes.”

Then with a long puff at the Hukah he asked the most fundamental question “Who will buy such a property?”

Ratanlal answered with a cunning smile “Harun!”

*

**

Harun did not realise that he was being followed until he reached the grocery shop. Kuntal suddenly appeared at the shop with no intention to buy anything at all. He greeted Harun with his trade mark cunning smile.

“Harun, my friend!” called out Kuntal. Harun replied with a meagre smile. “My friend” he continued, “You do not know that my heart aches for you. When I close my eyes I see you begging on the road with no land left on you. The goat that feeds you milk now will not live forever. Therefore I went to the Zamindar and threw myself into his feet. I begged him to have mercy on my nephew Harun.”

Harun was flabbergasted both by this newly fabricated sympathy and the newly concocted relationship. In manifestation of this awe he forgot to blink for a while.

Kuntal observed his reaction and resumed, “Ah! Harun, I know you do not believe me. Nobody in the village does. But take my word, I am an honourable man. I always wanted good for my fellow villagers and therefore I maintain close liaison with Ratanlal, the confederate of the Zamindar. These foolish villagers think I lick their boots but what I do I do for the villagers. They never understand my emotions.” Kuntal ended this self proclamation of goodness with a slight choke in his voice. He also cleared his eyes of some invisible tears.

“Never mind.” he continued “I shall not bore you with the agony of my life. Rather I have a solution to your problems.” He looked at Harun with a broad smile with the expectation that Harun would jump in eagerness and ask ‘WHAT IS THE SOLUTION?” But Harun did not even move his neck. Kuntal dropped his excitement to reality and spoke “I have convinced the Zamindar to sell the land to you at a meagre rate!”

Harun asked “How does that help? If I am buying my own field again, is it not my loss?”

Kuntal annoyingly said “You are such a dumb boy Harun. Think about the offer carefully. Now you have no land and one old goat who will soon say good bye to the world. Then what will you feed on? Oh! Do not tell me Bhimsen has left behind a fortune for you!” He giggled at his own futile attempt at amusement and then continued, “The Zamindar will sell the land in one thousand rupees which is one fifth of the market value of the land. You can pay the money by selling the goat. You will recover the money in the first year of agricultural produce. Then you shall have the land to your disposal for a lifetime. Think about it.”

Harun excused himself asking for time to think about the offer. Harun did agree to the proposal after a couple of days. After all, he had no other feasible choice but to agree.

***

Jaywant Pandia is a man in his late fifties. He carried a cane but did not require it. Not at least from the prospect of physical inability. He would walk a mile without even letting the cane touch the ground. Yet he carried the cane when he traversed through the village lanes. The cane would just sway with his hands in a rhythmic motion. However, when he passes a low caste villager he would sway his cane with a little more vigour.

It was all the same today. He was walking through the lanes early in the morning as a daily routine. Kuntal appeared before him. Jaywant increased his pace. He did it whenever he walked with a man of a lower stature. Kuntal knew the protocol so he walked behind him keeping a one-step distance always.

He spoke, “Your highness, there is some bad news for you.”

The Zamindar stopped suddenly and turned his face towards Kuntal. He said, “I know that I do not like your face but it does not mean that you will come to me with bad news.” Kuntal retaliated, “Your Highness, am I not the same person who broke the news of Bhimsen’s death?”

The Zamindar was annoyed, “But I still do not like your face. Now come to the point.”

Kuntal said, “You must be aware that the archaeological department was digging Harun’s land for the past couple of days. They did not found any other skeleton or fossil but found enormous amount of precious stones. These stones are contemporary and have no historical value. The department has decided to give these stones to the owner of the land. However, the land would be kept under the surveillance of the archaeological department for further excavations. “

The zamindar was furious. “It means that the half fed urchin Harun will now be rich and will not bow before me. I made a big blunder listening to that Ratanlal. I wish I had not sold the land to Harun.”

After a pause he commanded “Tell Ratanlal to meet me with a solution.”

Kuntal had uttered, “Your Highness Should I try to solve..” but Zamindar interrupted with a reprimand “DO AS I SAY Kuntal”

***

The armchair was now placed at the lawn. But the zamindar did not occupy it. He was too restless to sit down. Ratanlal was fetching for words to apologize. After all, his advice had misfired devastatingly. “Do you have any solution? If not you can avoid showing me your face”

Ratanlal was speechless and the Zamindar was infuriated “I need that land Ratan. I need that land at any cost. Buy that land from Harun. I shall pay him double the market price. Convince him to sign on a back dated agreement so that my ownership could be established from a date prior to the annexure of land by the archaeological department.”

Ratanlal departed with a herculean task at hand.

***

Harun was taken aback when suddenly a face appeared at his window. The evil smile of Kuntal greeted Harun through the window. Harun wished he had not opened the window early that morning. He did not attempt to conceal his annoyance or anger. He spoke, “You have fooled me once. Have you come to fool me again?” Kuntal tried to wear a remorseful frown on his face but failed. He spoke “Harun, believe me. I did not know that the land would be confiscated by the archaeology department. Nobody knew that the skeleton discovered in your land belonged to a prehistoric man!”

Harun yelled, “BUT MY LIFE IS SPOILED. I lost my land to some silly government department. I sold my goat to repurchase my own land. Now I have no goat and no land. You all have turned me into a beggar. Leave me alone, will you?” His voice choked.

Kuntal stood peeping through the window fishing for sweet lies. He said, “I cannot bear to see your agony. I spent sleepless night figuring solutions to your problem. And it takes me great pleasure to announce...” Harun interrupted before he could complete his sentence. “So you have come up with new means to fool me!”

Kuntal disappeared from the window and entered through the door after a couple of seconds. He explained, “You always misunderstand me Harun. Every villager misunderstands me. I am a pious soul always endeavouring to help others.” He said these words with such conviction that even the gods would be fooled. But Harun did not believe him. “Please make it fast Kuntalji. I have some important work to do.”

“What is more important than living?” asked Kuntal. Without even waiting for an answer he continued, “It is fine you do not believe me but you must have faith in your good future for it is going to change. I had flung myself to the feet of the Zamindar. I lamented deeply as I narrated your condition to him. My narration was so overwhelming that I saw tears in his eyes.”

Harun had already accepted his fate. He also spoke to some people to allow him to work in their field as labourer. He has mentally conditioned himself to live the rest of his life in poverty. But he did not prepare himself for the ridiculous and fake sympathy that oozes out from his words. Harun could bear any agony but it is unbearable to hear that the butcher had lamented over the Goat sacrifice.

Kuntal continued “The Zamindar was so moved that he decided to help you. He will buy your land again by paying an amount equal to the market price. HARUN CAN YOU BELEIVE IT?!”

Harun replied with a poker face, “I DO NOT BELEIVE IT.” Kuntal was irritated “Harun, you must believe me. You must resale the property to the Zamindar and get a good amount of money to start a fresh life.”

Harun questioned, “That land is already ceased by the government. How can I sell it? Anyways, if I had any possession over the land I should have cultivated it. You would have had no option to show your sympathy.”

Kuntal explained, “Harun, listen to me carefully. You must remember that you purchased the land on the 5th of this month. The archaeological department confiscated the property on the 7th. You will resale the property with documentation predated to the 6th of the month. Now do you get it?”

Harun asked, “Why should the zamindar bear pecuniary losses for me?”

Kuntal said, “The zamindar has a heart of gold. You do not realize because you do not see the glitter of it. I have seen him melting at the agony of others!”

“What is the catch?” Harun asked not believing anything he said.

Realising that Harun would not believe him anymore, he confessed, “Okay. Let me be more frank with you. The zamindar has friends working at the government department. He could easily regain the land and practice agriculture on it. Now if the land is owned by you the zamindar cannot campaign for the property. It is unprofitable for both. Under the new arrangement, you shall have a lump sum payment and the zamindar will have an agricultural land. You must be a fool to deny such offer.”

“I need double the market price.” Harun now sounded like a hardened businessman.

“Of course” smiled Kuntal.

The documentations were complete in the next few days. Harun got his money and the zamindar was waiting for his own.

***

Ratanlal was waiting outside a dilapidated government building. The regional office-mostly occupied by the British nationals-was made of white marble. The marbles were so clean that it glittered in sunlight. But this local office was in a dire condition. No wonder the office was filled with Indians. It was past noon that Ratanlal was escorted by a thin and lean gentleman inside the office. Amidst the hustle bustle of a busy government office both made way towards a table heaped with files. A man with a gigantic beard peeped through the files and smiled meekly. He asked, “I heard you were looking for me.”

Ratanlal nodded in approval, “I wish to speak about the zamindar’s land which your department had seized and...”

“How do I know your Zamindar? Is he world famous?” interrupted the big bearded gentleman with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.

Ratanlal could sense the sarcasm but choose to hold on to his nerves. He replied “The land belonged to Jaywant Pandia”

The man raised his eyebrow in recognition of the name, “Oh yes, the land of Mr Jaywant Pandia was seized for excavation purpose. Several items of precious stones were found. Mr Jaywant had applied that the stones be rendered to him as they have no archaeological or historical value. But I do not remember if that application was approved. Let me see.”

He then dismantled the heap of files and spread them across the table with dust flying all over the place. Amidst some cough and sneezes the man found out the specific file he was searching for.

“Here you go” said the man, “Your application was approved but you must pay 50 percent of the value of the stones as tax to the government.” The man spoke as he was turning the pages.

After some scrutiny of the papers he added, “But the signature of the approving officer is pending. I shall get it signed today and Mr Jaywant will get the stones thereafter” He had barely finished speaking when the same lean and thin gentleman who had earlier escorted Ratanlal approached near the table. He made a slight bow before the bearded man and informed with a slight urgency in his voice “Sir, a new circular of the Government had arrived yesterday. You have not received it yet. It might be something important. Please go and have a look.”

The man rose from his chair immediately and both of them left the room in a hurry. The lean gentlemen however threw a glance at Ratanlal signaling him to wait.

The bearded man reappeared after half an hour. He wore a false gloom on his face when he saw Ratanlal. He informed, “I have a real bad news for you. The government had passed a new law. It is called the ‘Treasure Trove Act, 1888’. According to the law, everything found under the ground is the property of the Government. Since your file is not yet signed by the approving officer, the stones that were found in your land belong to the Government.”

***

By Subhadeep Santra