Learn English and English Literature : Short Stories

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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 19.5pt; mso-font-width: 90%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: yellow;">The
Only American from our Village </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<b><i><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Arun Joshi <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This short story, written in English, describes what
happens when Dr Khanna, an Indian scientist who has settled in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region>,
returns to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region>
for a visit. The court paper sold by the <i>ashtamp farosh</i> who tells the
story of what happened to Dr Khanna's father is special stamped paper on which
certain legal documents are required to be written. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dr Khanna was easily
the most outstanding immigrant physicist at the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">University</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename w:st="on">Wisconsin</st1:placename></st1:place>.
Personally, he considered himself to be the finest of <i>all</i> physicists,
immigrant or native. He was also among the dozen or so best-dressed men on the
campus. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">   When he was forty Dr Khanna, his wife
Joanne, and their two sons decided to visit <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region>, the country that Dr Khanna had
left fifteen years earlier and where his fame had preceded him. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">   The four week trip was a success by all
accounts. He was received by an official of the Council of Scientific Research.
He addressed a conference on Interplanetary radiation and inaugurated three well-attended
seminars. He met the President and the Prime Minister. He was offered many jobs
each of which he politely declined. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">   His wife and children were worshipped by his
relatives whom they had never met before and for whom they had brought Gillette
razors, pop records, and a mass of one-dollar neck-ties. The records and the neck-ties
were unusable because the relatives had neither record-players nor suits but
the razors were greatly prized, especially by the women who saved them for their
teenaged sons. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">    The last of the four weeks Mrs Khanna and
the children went off on a sightseeing tour. Dr Khanna delivered his final talk
at a college in his former home-town. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">   The talk went well. He was introduced to the
audience in glorious terms and the boys stayed quiet which was not natural for
them. He was thanked profusely and, it seemed, endlessly by the lecturer in
Physics. Some of the audience stopped by on their way out and hid their humble
farewell with folded hands. At the end of them all an old man came shuffling
along and insisted on shaking Dr Khanna's hands. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">   'I am the </span><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt;">ashtamp farosh</span></i><span lang="EN-US"> of the
town,' the old man said, staring up at Dr Kanna, His eyes were heavy with cataract.
The grease on his jacket shone in the yellow light. Dr Khanna looked on,  puzzled. The Principal was embarrassed. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">   ‘Mr Radhey Mohan’, he explained, 'sells
court paper in front of the District Courts.' </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">'Yes,' the old man
repeated. 'I am the </span><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt;">ashtamp
farosh</span></i><span lang="EN-US"> of the town. I knew your father. I am very happy
to see you. I came here only to see you bccause I am only an </span><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt;">ashtamp farosh </span></i><span lang="EN-US">and
do not understand such matters. Nor do my sons because they are not even matriculates.
I have not been out of this town. I live in the village which was also your father's
village and is, therefore <i>your</i> village. Ha! Ha! I can take you there if
you like.' </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">   'I had been to our village when I was a
boy,' said Dr Khanna hastily. He was glad he could say that because some trick
of the old man, a slant of the lips, a glint in the eye, the accent, which had
also been his father's, had made him uncomfortable. 'I have been to our village
several times,' he repeated. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">   'I know. When you came with your father, you
always came to my house because your father and I were very close to each other,
like brothers, and I was not then the </span><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt;">ashtamp farosh</span></i><span lang="EN-US"> because I
had property and I did not have to be an </span><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt;">ashtamp farosh</span></i><span lang="EN-US"> and I lived
in style. Of course, all this does not interest you. I know that.' </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">   There was a pause. The Principal who had been
trying to put an end to this unexpected encounter edged Dr Khanna towards the
door. The </span><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt;">ashtamp farosh</span></i><span lang="EN-US"> put his hand on Dr Khanna's shoulder and began again. Darkness
gathered on the grounds outside. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">   'He was a good student, the best. I sat at
the same desk, so I know. I carved my name on my side of the desk, Your father
did not want to spoil the wood so I carved his name on his side. Before he died
we went and looked for the desk and, believe me, it was still there. So were
the names, It was very strange, I had not expected the names to be there. Your
father's name is on the Honours Board, too. Mine is not there, because I failed
in matriculation. But his name is there. If you like we can go and have a look.
He stood third in the state. Maybe you don't know it. Standing third in thirty
thousand boys was no joke. He won a scholarship as he always did.He wanted to
take up a job but his mother said he must go to college. So he went to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Lahore</st1:place></st1:city>. I am told he made
a mark there. But I don't know. I saw him only when he came home for vacation.
If he had made a mark he did not let it get to his head. He was always the same
with me. I wanted to know about the dancing girls of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Lahore</st1:place></st1:city> but he did not know about such things.
But he had brains. Even I could see that. I met him every summer, several
summers running. Then he took a job somewhere. In <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Lucknow</st1:place></st1:city> or <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Kanpur</st1:place></st1:city> or <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Allahabad</st1:place></st1:city> - I don't know. You must know better.
I saw him when his mother died. He cried a lot. Then he locked up the old house
and went away. I did not see much of him for twenty years. Only once or twice when
he brought you and your sisters to see the village. He came back after he
retired. He looked old, older than his years, but he was happy. He was very
proud of you, He told everyone what all you had done. He got angry with me because
I was not interested in what you had done. He used to say you would be a big government
man when you came back. He would say you were coming back in one year, in two
years, any time. Then you got married and he was quiet for many months. But he
started talking again. He said you were the only American from our village. I
asked him once what was so great about being the only American from our
village. He said it was an honour.  </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">   'Some of us used to go for walks. He talked
all the time. And he talked only of you. We got fed up with his talk, to tell
you the truth. We had a foot in the grave, all of us. What did we care for your
achievements; what you did and what you did not do. I told him so one day. He
was angry with me. I suppose I should not have said that. He stopped coming with
us. He did not go for walks for a while, then he started to go by himself. He
chose different timings and took a different route. But I would see him now and
then. He had a sloop. You are developing a stoop similar to his, if you don't
mind my saying so.' </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">   The </span><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt;">ashtamp farosh</span></i><span lang="EN-US"> paused. He
seemed to have lost the thread of his thoughts. Then he started again. 'After
his retirement he had a shave every other day. We used to go together, to the
same barber. He would have his shave first because he did not like to wait. But
he had to wait anyway while I had my shave. It came to the same thing. But he
did not mind that. Some people are strange. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">   'Then, all at once, he started to shave every
day. He also had two shirts made. Two new shirts and a suit. He said it was too
costly to have a shave every day in the bazaar, so he bought his own razor. A
razor and a cake of soap. I asked him what on earth had got into him? Why in God's
name did he <i>have </i>to shave every day. He took me aside and said he was expecting
a ticket. What ticket? I asked him. He said he was expecting a ticket from you
to visit <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region>.
A return ticket. He looked at me when he said that his eyes twinkled.' </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">   The </span><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt;">ashtamp farosh</span></i><span lang="EN-US"> fidgeted
inside his pockets for several moments and pulled out a bidi. He did not light
it. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">   'To tell you the truth I was impressed.
Kundan Da1 going to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region>,
that was not something you could laugh away. I told some fellows about the
ticket and before morning the whole vi1lage knew about it. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">   'You see what I mean? Maybe you don't. Maybe
you don't have villages like ours in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region> but you must try to
understand what it meant after the whole village knew you were going to send
him a ticket. Did you send him a ticket?' </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">   The question took Dr Khanna by surprise. He
looked confused. He said: 'I could not, I did not ...' </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">   'I thought as much,' said the </span><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt;">ashtamp farosh</span></i><span lang="EN-US">,
cutting him short. 'Then he did another foolish thing: he turned religious. All
his live I had never seen him inside a temple and now he went there every evening.
Morning and evening. And that wasn't all. He started even to sing, the old fool.
What did he know about singing? Yet he would stand with all those old women and
sing, like a donkey, if you don't mind my saying so. I say this only because it
hurt me to see him making a fool of himself. I caught hold of him in the street
one day and I told him what I thought of him. What do you expect from God, I
asked him. Your son? A letter from your son? A ticket? What? Why was he cutting
himself off from the rest of us, I asked him. If you were doing well, as he
said, what was eating him. Why was he cutting himself of from his friends? I
thought he would be angry. But he wasn't. He just stood there in the middle of
the street and looked at me, looked right through me as though I were air. Then
he went off muttering to himself. I saw him many times alter that but I did not
speak to him again. I did not want trouble, to tell you the truth. Then he fell
ill.' </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">   The </span><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt;">ashtamp farosh</span></i><span lang="EN-US">
lit his bidi, took a deep pull and, on an impulse, threw it away. Dr Khanna could
see it smouldering in the verandah. The smoke nauseated him. Outside, it was
totally dark. The winter night had set in. Why did you not send him the ticket?’
the </span><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt;">ashtamp farosh </span></i><span lang="EN-US">asked suddenly. Once again Dr Khanna was taken by surprise. 'I could
not,' he said. 'I did not have the money' </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">   The </span><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt;">ashtamp farosh </span></i><span lang="EN-US">looked at
him, puzzled, but he said nothing. 'Nor did your father have the money. So he
stayed home and became quiet once again.' </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">   The </span><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt;">ashtamp farosh</span></i><span lang="EN-US"> fell
silent. His expressions became vague. He let his hands drop into his pockets where
they fidgeted with a variety of objects. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">   'Of course he had never had much money. He
had a scholarship in school that paid for his fees. But he had only two pyjamas
and two kurtas and he had no shoes. We went to school together and came back together.
Between the school and our village is the <i>cho</i>. Do you remember the <i>cho</i>?
It runs in the rains. Nine months it is dry. In summer the sand gets very hot. Have
you seen how they roast corn in hot sand. You could roast corn in the <i>cho</i>.
It was half a mile of boiling sand in May that we had to cross. No more, no
less. And your father had no shoes. So he would stop this end of the <i>cho</i>
and take a handful of <i>dhak</i> leaves and tie them on his naked feet with a
string and he would cross the sand. And if the string came off he would jump
around screaming on one foot while I tied the leaves back on to his foot. That
is how your father crossed the <i>cho</i> for ten years, Dr Khanna,' said the </span><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt;">ashtamp farosh</span></i><span lang="EN-US">.
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">   His tone was not harsh. He was not even
looking at him but somehow Dr Khanna had the unreasonable feeling that the old
man was going to slap him. He wanted to get away and he looked helplessly al
the Principal but the </span><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt;">ashtamp
farosh</span></i><span lang="EN-US"> stood between them and the doorway. He had
begun to talk again, in a softer voice, as though to himself. 'I told him not
to do it. I told him he was being stupid.' </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">   After another silence he addressed them again,
'When he fell ill your sister came. He asked me to write to you, I sent you a
telegram. It cost me one hundred rupees but you chose to reply only by a letter.
I did not understand what you said except that you had to attend some conference.
I told your father you had a conference. ‘Does he say when he can come?"
he asked. I told him you had not said when you could come. 'He must he
husy," he said. He did not mention you again. He got better. One day he said,
"Radhey, let us go and look at our old desk." It was the month of May
and it was very hot but he was feeling better and I thought a trip to town will
do him good. We went in a rickshaw. And the desk was where it had always been.
The same room, the same row, the same place. There were his initials on his
side and mine on mine. We went to the Honours Board and had a look at his name.
We started hack and came to the <i>cho.</i> Then the mad thought entered his
head. It was madness. No more, no less. There are no words to describe such
madness, He even looked mad to me. He stopped the rickshaw before the <i>cho</i>.
He got off and kicked away his shoes and started plucking at the leaves of <i>dhak</i>.
He could not tie them because he had arthritis and he could not bend. "Tie
these on my feet, Radhey," he ordered me. "You are mad, Kundan Lal,"
I told him, but he had a bad look on his face and I knew it was no use arguing
with him. I thought he would come to his senses when he touched the boiling
sand. But I told you he wasn't himself. He stepped into the <i>cho</i>. I followed
him carrying his shoes hoping he would stop, shouting at him to stop. I could
feel the sand through my soles but told you he had lost his head. He walked the
whole half mile. The leaves fell off on the way. God himself could not have
stopped him. He had fever by the time he got home. The next day he died.' </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">   Dr Kanna winced but his training in the new
civilization had been perfect. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">   'I was very sorry to hear of his death,' he
said calmly. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">   'We must go now, Radhey Mohanji,' said the
Principal. He stretched his hand but the </span><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt;">ashtamp farosh</span></i><span lang="EN-US"> was gone,
shuffling through the dark, a bidi in his mouth. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">   That weekend Dr Khanna and family boarded a
plane for <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Chicago</st1:place></st1:city>.
At <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Chicago</st1:place></st1:city> they
changed. As the plane for <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Madison</st1:place></st1:city>
got aloft Mrs Joanne Khanna was heard to say to her husband, 'What's the
matter, darling, you keep staring at your feet. I have been watching you for
the last two days and you’ve done nothing but stare at your feet.' </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">    Since then a lot of people have been heard
to say that. To a psychiatrist Dr Khanna has confided that he has periods of great
burning in his feel. He has further indicated that he thinks he has been
cursed. Dr Khanna's output of research since he came back has been zero. He has
generally come to be known as the man who does nothing but stare at his feet.</span></span></div>
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Text of The Only American from our Village

The Only American from our Village Arun Joshi This short story, written in English, describes what happens when Dr Khanna, an In...