Once Upon a Gandhi

We rented a house in Patna. We didn't know about Sheetal Babu, who lived in the outhouse. In the evening, he returned from work, gathered his things, and came to say goodbye to my father.

Sheetal Babu was an old man, about 70. He still worked as a subeditor for a local newspaper. In the 1950s, people were kind and considerate. There was enough for everyone. My father asked him to stay in the outhouse and guide the young children.

Sheetal Babu, short with white hair under a Gandhi cap, raised his hands and blessed us. His eyes grew wet. People called him Gandhiji with respect. 
We children learned many things from him. We'd wake up early, bathe, say prayers, and study for two hours before school. We tried our best to follow.

Gandhiji was a freedom fighter. His pension and newspaper salary were enough. He made all his clothes, even bedsheets; from khadi yarn he spun himself in his free time.

One day, after school, we saw a cute boy of our age peeking from the outhouse window. It was Gandhiji's grandson, Kameshwar. He'd lost his mother a month ago. His father, a busy head constable in Calcutta, couldn't look after him.

In the early morning, Kameshwar would take bath, worship, and meditate. I was

impressed by his recitation of the Gayathri Mantra. His braekfst used to be Sattu (baked and powdered gram) or Chuda (flattened and baked rice) with jaggery. We'd find Kameshwar studying when we woke up. After school, he'd return to his room and eat leftover breakfast. Sometimes, hunger showed on his face. Then, my mother would insist him to eat with us.

Gandhiji was kind in return. After work, he'd cook Roti and dal (lentils) on a wood fire and invite us to share. The smoky, delicious smell still lingers.

 Gandhiji would teach him under a kerosene lamp. He refused electricity even after we offered it. Thanks to him, we received Patna's newspaper every day. He'd read it and leave it on the counter for us.

Gandhiji's Gandhian values showed in his actions. Once, a judge in the neighbourhood got angry at an eight-year-old sweeper's boy for plucking a rose from his garden. The judge beat the boy, who swore. The more he swore, the more he was beaten. No one dared to stop it. Finally, Gandhiji intervened. "Sir," he said, "the boy lacks Sanskara, but you have in abundance."

On the day I got my class results, I celebrated with my friend and came home late. I saw Kameshwar standing on a stool on the veranda. He was being punished for getting 97% in math instead of 100% and coming second in class. I had scored only 45%.

That winter break, Gandhiji went to his village home and never returned. We heard news of his passing a few days later. Kameshwar went back to his father in Calcutta.
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Years passed, I became a professional auditor of industrial safety and environment. I had to visit factories all over the state to conduct audit. In the process, I went to a big factory of repute to carry out safety and environment management audit.

As soon as, I entered the factory premises, I heard a big commotion near the time keeping booth. A man was shouting with abuses. The general manger pacified the man in good time. He was in drunken state. This was quite prohibited inside a factory premises. My first instruction was to remove the person from inside the premises. When he was being escorted by security personnel, I had a good glimpse of the man. He was hangered man around my age.

He was none other than Kameshwar employed as a time-keeper on a daily basis. The sharpness of his good looks was shining even in her matted hair, unkempt clothes, teeth coloured with betel leaves. He did not recognize me. Later, I went to HRD and looked at his records. He was reinstated on insistence of the worker union. Kameshwar was able to study only till 10th class. Life in Calcutta hadn't been good to him.. Nothing could be done to bring improvement in him except to embarrass him by revealing my identity.

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