#InnTales-5
The Punishment
The villagers of Trasik village hunt for food in the mountains, mainly wild beasts while fruits and edible leaves make up their vegetarian fare.
It was 2 generations ago, that the ancestors of today’s Trasikians, had their first encounter with Mahur. A hunting party of 8 men had gone into the surrounding mountains for hunting. It so happened that the wild boar turned out to be too cunning and soon they were short of water as well. A tired human may not need mutton immediately but he cannot do without water, so the party soon abandoned all thoughts of hunting and started a frantic search. And deep inside the jungle they came across some delirious langurs, either frolicking below the trees or crashing into each other. They were eating some fallen fruits. Fruits! Dead tired to hunt even the slowest langurs, the hunting party threw their weapons to the ground and started picking up the fruits.
However sour and fizzy, they were unable to stop themselves from eating them as their minds went light, their legs became jelly, they couldn’t stop their uncontrollable laughter, soon passing out with intoxication. And when they finally found their way back to their village, they had carried as much of the fruit as they could carry.
As time went by, it was difficult to find a sober person, man or woman, in the village. When this continued for too long the elders came together and after a lot of deliberations, announced, “No more Mahur. Those found intoxicated, they would be made to sit on a donkey, and would be taken out on a procession through the village, to the accompaniment of loud music.” From that day onwards, not a single intoxicated person could be found in the village again, to this day.
The day dawned. Post the morning ablutions, the task was cut out for the Keepers. They were The Keepers of Sober Society, now known as the Keepers. Their routine task was to go around the village and find any delinquent soul, who had regressed back to his intoxicated DNA. To their utter surprise and shock, they found just such a soul, singing a hoarse song in his hut. When they entered his hut, they were further taken aback. The whole floor reeked of some foul smelling fruits lying around. No sooner had the oldest Keeper entered, he gasped, “Mahur…Mahur…bb..but, how?”. How had this godforsaken fruit entered the village again? “Baapsa…ho, Baapsa”, but Baapsa was full tight. Sweating profusely with bloodshot eyes, Baapsa hollered, “Who the hell izz that? Hh…who dares to disturb me?”.
One of the Keepers whispered back, “Baapsa…you are not supposed to be intoxicated. It’s ban…”. “What bb…ban, eh?”, and then with sudden realization, Baapsa exclaimed, “Donkey, eh. Bb…bring the donkey, I want to shh…sit on it now. I want to tour the village”, as he swayed on the floor.
Meanwhile one of the Keepers had gone to fetch the village head, who made haste towards Baapsa’s hut.
“Arre…re…re…arre Baapsa, what sacrilege have you committed? Wait, you will sit on a donkey today and rot under the hot Sun”, the Head hollered. “Ah, yes, here it is.” Then addressing the donkey directly, the Head exclaimed, “Dhavlya…today you will know the real meaning of your life. You were exclusively appointed OSD, just for this eventuality, which we didn’t wish for but then one has to be prepared. Today is your day…”, when he was rudely interrupted by a disoriented Baapsa, who steamrolled towards the donkey, jumped and sat on it, facing backwards. “Ghoomva…ghoomva, take me through the village”, and so saying he raised his hand forward, as if directing an imaginary army to charge into a battle. The Village head and the Keepers looked at each other, utterly confused. But rules were rules, follow they must. So one of the Keepers fetched some turmeric from his pocket and lathered Baapsa’s face with it. And someone else poured water on the ground, made a paste out of the mud, and applied another layer to Baapsa. “Hooo…aaah…ha…ha…”, screamed Baapsa and yelled at the Head, “and what about Dhh…Dhavlya? Apply turmeric on him too. Didn’t you just say, that it is his day? He should be decked up.”
And so the procession went, from one hut to the next. The village children ran, some in the front, dancing, while others teased Baapsa, making faces at him and throwing mud on him. And so it went on for an hour or so, by which time it was lunch time. Most of the villagers had joined the procession, being enamored by the festive atmosphere with Baapsa going “ghumva…ghumva…”, to the beat of drums.
The Head came running to the front and signaled them to stop. “Okay, we stop here now for lunch, I know everyone is hungry”. Dhavlya, being obedient came to a stop, but the load he was carrying was in no mood. Swaying, both to the music and his body’s altered centre of gravity, he announced with great gravitas, “No, no, no. Please follow the rules. We shh…should go through the entire village. We should not insult the memory of our ancestors like this. This should be taken to its logical conclusion. Aage badho…”
The Head and the Keepers exchanged glances, nobody brave enough to go against the rules. After all, this was the first time the rule was broken. So the procession went on.
Those at the rear of the procession kept dropping off while those at the front kept falling back. As noon turned into evening the situation became so bad that the only ones in the procession were Dhavlya, Baapsa, the Head and the Keepers.
“*###* Baapsa, we are tired now. Let’s stop. We have covered the entire village. We have followed the rule. You have been punished enough for your transgressions”, the Head almost whimpered. The Keepers watched Baapsa expectantly. But Baapsa! He was just coming into his element. “Ohh…What are you saying, what about those poor villagers whom you had banished to the hilltop, just for taking a few logs from your house? Take the procession there…why should they miss out? Hurr…Dhavlya…”
Those Keepers quenching their thirst, dropped the earthen pots, and rejoined the procession while the Head dragged his feet. He muttered expletives under his breath, a few directed towards Baapsa but most towards the Elders.
At the front of the procession, Dhavlya was frothing at the mouth while Baapsa…why, he kept up his Swansong, “Ghoomva…ghoomva…”
Yatindra Tawde
• OSD – Officer on special duty
• Credits – famous Marathi story, “Dhind” by Shankar Patil.
• Photo – thanks to Gemini AI
The Punishment
