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The Card Readers

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25 May, 20 05:35
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Arkaprava Das,new delhi

The Card Readers

It is morning. The vast temple premise is buzzing with people - pilgrims, priests, beggars, tradesmen, and many others. In the contrasting tranquillity of spreading daylight, the place presents a prominent scene of the intended busy rush. This is the time when the city still sleeps in peace while the place is practically active. This is the auspicious time for the pilgrims to come and be blessed. This is a vital time for the tradesmen to start their business. They've all assembled in this early hour of the day with the aim to fulfill their desires. In this lot, there sit three card readers besides the temple wall. It is their usual beginning time. Each of them is equally occupied by organizing themselves. One has already obtained a client; the other one is seriously going through a scroll while the third one is quickly putting his stuff in their proper places. None of them can spare to look elsewhere.


The cobbler sits in front of them under a banyan tree. He is much sluggish than these three figures whom he is observing once or twice while mending a torn footwear. Angry words brew inside his mind for them for no such clear reason. A cobbler is a sad person. He has cluttered many reasons that will stand to prove he is sad indeed. Old and new reasons come and hover on his head and drown him more and more. What to say. He is sitting in a place where once his father used to sit doing the same job that he is now doing. Neither the place nor the profession has changed even after a complete sweep of generation. Yet, his surrounding has changed and it is beyond his ideas to fathom how it all happens.

Naturally enough, it is beyond for him to withstand the three-card readers sitting to his front. That place was once empty and often used by animals or beggars. Then, one card reader selected the spot to begin his business. At first, he began by selling holy picture cards and rosary beads. Then, how it is not known to the cobbler, but he gathered two other companions and shifted to the business of card reading. It is certainly by some power of strong witchcraft as the cobbler interprets that three of them are doing well. Very well indeed. But, he is picked as the easy prey before this deceitful world with no provision and no escape from its ruthlessness. The cobbler has cursed himself in numerous ways but even his curses are damn useless.

He relieves his fingers and the footwear from the process of repeated pricking in and out. He never senses the stiffening of his finger muscles or any parts of his body. He picks the brush and readies the sole for fixing. There are so many stories of miracles and blessings that are popular in this holy place. He looks up and watches the golden pot of the shikhara shining in sunlight with his glum eyes. Priests of this temple and many other people say it often that it was actually an ordinary metal pot that belonged to one of the poor artisans who was working in the construction of this temple. Once, after the day's work, he became so tired that he slept without eating anything. The next day, he found his pot to be filled with food and gold. It now adorns the temple top, believed as a talisman.

Not for him. He thinks. And he wishes to forget it fast. Once before, he seriously prayed. But, not anymore. He has nothing to ask from that ornate pot again. In many ways, he urged his upliftment and they all resulted as torture to his soul. Now, he has submitted it. Let him fix the sole and wait for other customers.

“......Its the matter of at least three-four months....that I count...You will outfox your rivals if you play safe.....,”

Few pieces of sermons from front reach cobbler's ears. A shade of defeated smile floats on his face. They certainly have the skill to entice the world. He knows well that his wits or abilities are too commonplace and he is incapable to hide or die to erase this shame. He remembers the day when he came to these card readers to reveal his endless worries and sort a quick remedy. He saw their unmoved faces that day. Quickly, one of the card readers mentioned him to go for a better option than he could find. He was actually thinking to join a local shoe factory in those days. So, he followed their opinion.

On his first day, he stood puzzled looking here and there to grasp the exact work that he was called for. He felt abandoned, stifled, and scared. He saw people working with shoes, yet he felt a strange apathy growing and swelling inside him. After a long time, he was called and questioned his skill sets. He could not recount what he said in response. He was allotted in some part-time work and allowed to get it done from his home. He returned with a pack of shoe parts and found his family to become a little relieved and cheery with what he told them. His wife cooked his favorite plate that night. His son was eager to do what he brought back home. He, in turn, suddenly slapped his son when he was pattering. That night, he stayed out of his home.

The cobbler remained at home to work for a few days and returned the completed set to his employer. He was paid and given more works. He passed the working men in that factory and returned home with a fresh pack. He suddenly felt sick and disturbed by his own tools. A perplexing pain was pinching hard in him and he wanted to move out of everything around him. He let his son do the work that he brought from that factory. He even spent some time to show what to do with those shoe parts. The cobbler decided to go back to his ancestral workplace.

So, when he returned to the temple under the old banyan tree, he saw a tiny boy loudly chanting scriptures and explaining what they mean placing himself easily on the working box that he left there locked. The cobbler felt puzzled for sometimes. Then, he went ahead and stopped the boy's humming, but the boy was obstinate. He refused to let the cobbler sit in his place. A little skirmish broke in, in which the tiny boy was supported by the card readers and the cobbler left alone. Still, it was settled at last and the cobbler got back his position. But, the bitterness of the incident never left him.

“Are the shoes ready?” The cobbler looks up. There is a man. A woman and a child are standing behind him.

“.....I had sent a pair of sneakers yesterday...,” The man elaborates.

“....Oh...Yes, Sahib....,” Cobbler reciprocates in answer.

“....Keep it to dry for the day.....,” Cobbler gives the man his sneakers and says.

“What do you mean?” Cobbler hears the man's disturbing voice.

“I need them today....I told that boy to say you so yesterday.....,” The man states.

“......Yes, he told me that you'll be coming today to take them back....,” Cobbler reverts.

“....Then, why you haven't dried them yesterday.....you....fool....,” The man speaks in a raised temper.

“.....Sahib...I do not keep anyone's shoes dry here.....And the boy never mentioned that you need them to wear today...,” Cobbler raises his voice too.

“.....Now, this is simply good nonsense.....And I'm not going to pay you for this.....Put it clearly inside your mind.....I needed the shoes today only...You damn idiot.....I'm not going to take them back.....,” Fury of the man exceeds beyond limits. The woman from behind comes ahead to console him promptly.

“....You know that I'm very comfortable with those sneakers...And we have to travel a lot today.....You know that....,” The man seems difficult.

“.....I'm not going to take them back.......,” The angry man turns around and the family follows.

“.....Sahib....give my money....,” Cobbler shouts.

“....Don't make me kick you.....You filthy rat......Take the shoes...I don't care....Take them and sell them......That's your business I know....,” The man struggles hard to unbind his wife's grasp but is dragged away.

Money is pushed in the hand of the cobbler and the family leaves the spot. The cobbler sits still and watches them go. The sneakers lay in his front.

“....Now, look here Sire.....Your obstructions are mainly coming since your mind is so easily shifted toward silly things.....These are not going to help you in any way.....You've to consider yourself first...Otherwise, you'll miss the vital things that are coming your way and going by without getting your attention....,” Words enter through cobbler's ears. One card reader is making a curious customer look away from him and concentrate on the reader's depictions.

“.....Yes...Yes...People's troubles are always silly and funny for you....Have the least shame of not making them parts of your show.....,” The cobbler growls suddenly.

“.....Talking to me...?....” The reader stops and questions.

“.....Yes...You.....,” The cobbler growls again.

“.....See...Better for you to do your own work and don't spoil our time...,” The card reader becomes stern.

“.....And everything else is just stupid to be your prey....,” Cobbler's voice becomes equally stern.

“.....Are you mad or what.....We'd told you earlier to leave from this place if you have any problem with us...Anyway, forget. Better let's work and not talk....,” The reader snaps.

“.....I know that's what you three want...But, know it clearly that this is my father's place and I won't leave here.....Spread bad words or trouble me, I don't care...But let's see how you can make me leave this place.....,” The Cobbler stands up straight, picks up one sneaker, and throws it instantly toward the card reader. The shoe lands directly over the cards arranged in front of the reader.

It was certainly a loud event much more in its intensity than the prayer bells reverberating in the temple core at that time. But, they all diminished to leaving some unsettled interesting rumors - criminal, communal, commercial, and others.


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