THE FIRST CASE
(A Story)
By Munimanikyam Narasimha Rao
Rendered from Telugu By R. Ramakrishnayya, M.A.
I
THE agents’ meeting came to a close and they were all dispersing with contentment in their looks. But Iswar Rao was an unhappy exception, for he received not even a pie as commission. He was leaving the hall with empty hands, and a dejected countenance. Would the goddess presiding over insurance ever smile upon him? Just as he stepped out of the hall, a servant of the company informed him that the General Manager was calling him. Iswar Rao dragged himself to the Manager’s table, and sank Wearily into a chair in front of him.
“Mr. Rao,” said the Manager in a compassionate tone, “it is nearly a year since you took up the agency, but you have not been able to rope in one person yet. What is the matter?”
“I am straining every nerve, sir, but fortune does not favour me. I am unlucky,” replied Iswar Rao pleadingly.
“Believe me, Mr. Rao, luck and ill-luck do not find a place in the dictionary of insurance. Hard work, young man, hard work is the key-word to success. You must intensify your efforts” said the Manager.
“Then, please, what shall I do?” asked Rao imploringly.
“Every minute, nay, every second, you must concentrate on insurance”, the Manager said.
“I am reading lots of books on insurance, sir,” replied Iswar Rao.
“My good God!” exclaimed the Manager. “Stop reading those infernal books for insurance sake. Straightway begin the study of men, and understand their psychology. Your bookish knowledge will not stand you in good stead. You are a graduate, and I need not tell you much.”
Iswar Rao nodded his distressed head in reply.
The Manager, with the air of a professor of practical insurance, continued to initiate the neophyte into the deeper mysteries of insurance. “Man, generally, is interested in the present, and is not prudent enough to lay by something against the rainy day. He is so self- centred that he cares a hang for the future as well as that of his dependants. Do you understand?”
“Yes, please” said the agent.
“Remember, it is the sacred mission of the insurance agent in this world”, said the Manager, glad that his pupil had at last comprehended the trade-secret.
Iswar Rao seemed to be a young man of promise. The Manager was bent upon giving all possible encouragement to him: he ought to stick to the business and prosper.
So he proceeded, “Mr. Rao, you must not despair. Work with a will and your efforts will be crowned with success sooner or later. From sunrise to sunset you must be thinking about insurance. Suppose you are travelling in a train. You have much time on hand. You can talk alluringly about the thousand and one benefits of insurance (to your fellow-passengers) and of the innumerable sufferings of the wives and children of those who died without insuring their lives. Your words will find fertile soil in the minds of at least a few persons and
bear fruit. The secret of it all is persistence.”
The Manager did not like to send away Iswar Rao with empty hands. He sympathized with his lot and gave him an advance of fifty rupees and his blessing into the bargain.
Iswar Rao felt pleased with the monetary encouragement. He felt that his erstwhile failures were only stepping stones to success and that self-confidence was returning. When others succeeded why shouldn’t he? He vowed that until he made at least one person insure his life he would not touch food. He must succeed this time at any cost. At Bezwada to begin with, he could fish one or two men who were badly in need of the protective care of insurance. Grim determination was depicted in every feature of his countenance.
II
The agent strode to the railway station, booked his ticket, and seated himself in a compartment which was almost empty. The Manager’s words were ringing in his ears. He should not let slip even a moment, and could start hunting even in a railway carriage.
Right opposite to him was seated a young man of about twenty. He had a woe-begone countenance, and was looking vacantly at others. From his dress and manner he seemed to be a petty clerk in some office. His forlorn appearance inspired Iswar Rao with new courage, and he determined to lose no time in casting his net, for something in him told him that the youth was in dire need of an insurance policy.
The idea was splendid, but this was his first case. The first blow was half the battle. He must succeed in his first attempt. He had a natural turn for business, and it was this consideration that weighed with him in the choice of his profession.
Scarcely had he noticed this youth when his latent abilities cried for expression. In the line of insurance it was only the first case that was difficult. If the first hurdle was crossed the rest was an easy walk-over.
III
Iswar Rao immediately rose from his seat, and sat beside the young man. He broke the ice of conversation, and by clever question; elicited all information about his position in life; this initial success ought to bring credit even to a veteran insurance agent. The young mar was a poor elementary school teacher, drudging through life. His family was small, and for the present he was able to manage anyhow. But he would be at sea (according to the calculation of the agent) in a few years, for with the passage of time his family was bound to increase.
As long as there was the vital breath in his body, he might be able to support his family, but if by an insidious stroke of blind fate he were to die, who would look after his unfortunate wife and the little ones? This line of argument seemed to be the most potent; it would bend the will of even those who were so obstinately self-controlled as to resist the humanitarian appeals of life insurance.
But the teacher did not show any signs of intelligence in his countenance. He seemed to be suffering from a deep melancholy. He answered his questions with uninterested absent-mindedness and vague looks. Perhaps the horrid picture of his wife and children begging from door to door induced this fit of mental depression on him. It was his sacred duty, as a humble servant of life insurance, to lift people like this young man from the slough of despondency. By drying the tears of this young man and bringing joy into his home, he would not only serve the interests of his company, but also add to his merit in this life.
With terrible determination the agent started his humanitarian mission, and dragged the young man into conversation. He drove home the cruel truth–the transitoriness of the flimsy bubble called human life which might burst any moment without notice.
“Please, ponder over this well,” Iswar Rao spoke with all the eloquence at his command, “all men are mortal. Now we are joyfully conversing; but we cannot be sure of the next moment.”
Iswar Rao’s eloquence seemed to have been lost upon the listener. There was no visible change of expression on his face, and he sat up as if he turned a deaf ear to the agent’s words. He neither endorsed his view nor combated it.
“Look here, mister,” Iswar Rao continued with redoubled fervour, “this train is now rushing on the bridge. It is not impossible that the bridge might collapse, and the poor passengers buried fathoms deep in the bed of the river. Such an unforeseen calamity has happened times out of number. What do you say?”
The teacher who had been listening to his words with diverted looks, turned towards the agent, and seemed to show some eagerness to understand the mysteries of the philosophy of life as expounded by the agent. Encouraged by this responsive gesture of the teacher, the agent added, “Death is always near. It dogs men at every step and assumes a thousand unrecognisable shapes. Once a bullock-cart over-turned, and killed an innocent fellow who was passing along.”
The teacher was all astonishment when he heard about the monstrosity of Death, and turned pale. The agent’s harangue seemed to have produced the desired effect. He was already halfway on the road leading to success. The teacher would surely be lured into his net. His face was the index of his success. Without slackening in his efforts he continued his sermon on the uncertainty of human life, carefully watching the changes of expression on the face of his listener.
Then the agent said, “There are people who fell down while cycling and lost their lives on the spot.”
Then the teacher, to the utter satisfaction of the agent, pulled a wry face. His speech had overwhelmed him. The agent came out successful in the preliminary part of his canvassing which was the most trying and delicate kind of work, and it only remained now to impress upon him the necessity of buying a policy to safeguard the future of his ‘better-half’ and children. As his prey was almost in his grip, he did not want to waste any more time on ‘philosophy, but thought of applying the naked grim truth of his doctrine directly and .finish him. With an air of assumed solemnity he pleaded, “Dear teacher, pay heed to my words. Please, don’t take them amiss. You have no property to fall back upon in times of need. You are leading a precarious existence in a remote village on a mere pittance, and you have no other source of income. Imagine for a moment in what a miserable plight your wife and children will be in the event of death getting the better of you and felling you with a cruel stroke. Ponder over this well. They, poor victims of hunger and want, will be compelled to lead a dog’s life.” Iswar Rao paused awhile darting stern looks at the poor teacher. The melodramatic effect of his words sent a thrill along his own spinal cord. Even he shuddered to think of the fate of his own wife. With a feeling of triumph surging in his breast he scrutinised the teacher’s face.
The teacher nodded assent to the words of the agent and seemed ready to confess to a sense of guilt on his part for the utter ruin he was bringing upon his family by mere lack of imagination. Even while nodding his head sheepishly, he lost control over his feelings, so long pent-up, and to the utter confusion of the agent, he burst out sobbing. Tears sprang to his eyes, and rolled down his cheeks pursuing one another in a stream.
The effect was as unexpected as it was shocking to the agent. He felt that he had overshot the mark. Never for a moment did he think that a teacher could be so crack-brained as to be upset by a well-known truth of life. Even before he expounded his theme, the teacher was behaving like a mere child. What he wanted merely was to get him to agree to buy a policy for a paltry sum of Rs. 5000, and the premium of Rs. 2 per month would after all fall very gently on him. What had he done to send him into fits of uncontrollable sobbing?
This heart-rending scene attracted the attention of their fellow passengers. They suddenly stopped their group conversations, and turned their faces towards the teacher in distress, with looks of surprised interrogation.
An elderly gentleman felt it his duty as a fellow-passenger to intervene and stop this bullying. “Why do you ill-treat him like that? What is the matter?” asked he of the agent with a consequential air. What could poor Iswar Rao reply? He turned pale in his turn, and hung his head in shame. He felt that he was in an intriguing situation. He himself felt like weeping. Both of them sat tongue-tied. Not only they but also the rest of the passengers sat motionless in stupeied amazement.
The hang-dog face and bewildered looks of the agent made all the people think that he was behind the whole mischief. The thought that the consensus of opinion held him responsible for the misery of the young man, made him look upon himself with contempt.
After a few minutes the teacher recovered from his sobbing. An old woman sitting near him took this opportunity to console him and enquire into the cause of his trouble. With motherly tenderness she said, “My dear son, you seem to be quite innocent; my heart is cut in twain as I see your misery. Why do you weep? What is the matter?” She paused and wiped a tear or two from her eyes with the end of her sari.
The young man could find no words to reply. Tears welled up in his eyes. With great effort he uttered feebly, “My wife will die”, and he could not continue. Flinging his arms round her neck with boyish indecorum and resting his head on her shoulders he burst into sobs again.
The old Woman too could not control her sorrow. Gathering the sorrowful figure of her new-found grandson in her arms with extreme tenderness and passing the fingers of her right hand gently over his cropped hair, she said in a soothing voice, “My son, my darling, no fear for your wife. By God’s grace she will be well. Is she dangerously ill?” With these words she burst into sympathetic sobs. When she spoke so as to console him, he stopped weeping. But suddenly he would remember something and weep again. Seeing her grandson weep, the grandma wept. This went on for sometime.
Iswar Rao’s heart went pit-a-pat. The world began to swim, and fantastic shapes danced before his blurred eyes. The whole world seemed to have hatched a nasty plot to bring him and insurance into discredit, or he might have been in the grip of a magic spell. He was a condition in which his senses seemed to fail in their functions.
IV
As a matter of fact, nobody in the compartment knew the real cause of the teacher’s sorrow. Those who occupied the first bench thought that his wife might be seriously ill and those on the third bench believed that she was already dead.
Some others were enraged at the tactless behaviour of Iswar Rao. He could as well have broken the sad news after he had got down the train.
Iswar Rao composed himself somewhat, and made an honest attempt to guess what might be the cause of his trouble. Perhaps, his wife might have been suffering from an illness of a serious nature. He thought this the clue to his absentmindedness and mental depression. His own poignant words that the teacher’s wife and children might die of starvation must have hurt him. He was so weak-minded that he could not even bear the suggestion of a calamity. He came to this conclusion, using his knowledge of psychology.
By this time the teacher seemed to have regained composure; but the shadow of depression still hung over his face. Slightly encouraged by this change in his looks the old lady addressed him, “Be a man, my dear son, what is the use of weeping?” But he looked as vacantly as ever.
Somebody on the last bench stood up, and with a firmness of voice which seemed to have been born of intimate knowledge, declared to the puzzled people that they were only brothers-in-law. Nobody doubted the truth of this statement. How he could divine this was a wonder to all!
The old lady, eager to ascertain the truth, asked the teacher, “Dear son, whose sister is given to whom?”
Iswar Rao was non-plussed. The passengers were trying to establish a relationship between himself and the teacher. A brainless, spineless fellow to be the husband of his own sister–the very thought was loathsome. How rascally those passengers were! Iswar Rao who had lost all initiative by this time kept mum. The youth nodded his head to the old woman’s question, “Is his sister your wife?” Now it was beyond a shadow of doubt that they were brothers-in-law. The mystery was cleared.
A knowledge of this relationship brought instant relief to all except Iswar Rao who never imagined that insurance agents could be forced into such strange relationships with their clients.
V
The agent sat lost in thought. The inquisitiveness of the old lady was not satisfied. She inquired of the teacher if he had any children. At this question he raised a finger of his hand. “So you have one child to look after even at such a tender age,” said she weeping and stroking his head. Whether he meant that he was alone without either a wife or children nobody knew. But who would care to understand him properly? The old lady who was the only person that took interest in his affairs and made an honest attempt to interpret his words and gestures, at once jumped to the conclusion that he had a child. When she raised the point of bringing up the child, he began to cry more loudly than ever.
Then the grandmother consoled her grandson saying, “Please, stop for the child’s sake at least. Be a man, be a man, my dear son.”
“Even that only child won’t survive,” he cried. This time he entwined his hands round the neck of the agent, and using his chest as a support for his head began to weep again.
Iswar Rao could not think of a way by which he would be able to get rid of the nuisance of a supposed brother-in-law who was hanging round his neck like a mill-stone. Though the action of the teacher was quite unendurable to Iswar Rao, no other passenger was struck with the unseemliness of his behaviour. When a person was overwhelmed with sorrow, there was nothing strange in his embracing his brother-in-law and weeping. Iswar Rao felt afraid that they would consider him as a stone-hearted cynic. He was prepared to go to the extent of owning the unknown teacher as his sister’s husband for the time being, but it did not strike his dazed mind that by the intrigue of circumstances he would be compelled to weep in unison with the teacher. Had he known that insurance business would thrust him into such preposterous situations, he would have safely avoided it, and chosen another line. There were a thousand other ways of earning one’s living in the broad world.
He could not help weeping lest he should be put down as an inhuman wretch. In response to the teacher’s sobbing, the agent took him in his arms and wept with all his heart.
Now the burden upon the shoulders of the people in the carriage to bring solace to the two broken hearts became twice heavier than before; So in one voice they tried to pacify the weeping pair saying, “Dear ones! What is past is past. There is no use crying over spilt milk. You must put an end to your weeping, otherwise it will tell upon your health.”
The old woman who had hitherto showed some partiality to the teacher, now bestowed her sympathetic attentions on the agent also. She took his confounded head into her hands and said, “Mad chap, if you also lose heart, who would console your brother-in-law? His only child is ill. Perhaps this is the first blow in his life. O, how inevitable is fate! You must pick up courage, and put heart into him.”
Her words had the desired effect on the agent, but the teacher went on weeping intermittently. The agent did not know how to extricate himself from this wretched situation. He thought of throwing himself overboard, and running away. He might sustain great injuries. While attempting to do so, they might all drag him back and chide him for leaving his brother-in-law to his fate in the hour of his difficulty. It was indiscreet to swim against the current of public opinion. Though the passengers in the carriage were but a microscopic minority of the people in the world, they were the world before which Iswar Rao was forced to acquit himself. So he determined not to migrate to another carriage.
The train was passing station after station, while the two youths went on weeping. Their faces became reddish brown and swollen.
The train stopped at a station. It was just next to Bezwada. Immediately after the train had stopped an elderly person came running to the window by which the teacher was sitting, and peeping through it shouted, “Here he is, run up.” Instantly another old gentleman came up to the carriage, gasping. Both of them got in and sat beside the teacher. One of them said with disgust, “You silly ass! We have been searching and searching for you, getting down at each and every station.” The other asked him, “You muff, when did you get into this compartment? What made you leave us so abruptly?”
This double volley of questions set him a-weeping again. The old lady asked the older of the two, if the teacher was related to them. He replied that he was his son. The other old gentleman was the teacher’s uncle.
Feeling great relief as if a heavy bmden had been removed from her shoulders she said reprovingly, “Brothers, for a long time he has been sobbing hysterically in spite of my attempts to console him. Why have you left the poor boy alone?”
The old gentleman asked him in a gruff voice, “You vagabond, why do you weep?
The teacher remained silent. Pitying his condition she said, “Don’t be cross with him, please. After all he is still young. His heart has not yet been sufficiently hardened by misfortune. Anybody would have done the same under the same circumstances. It is but human to weep over the loss of his wife and daughter.
The old gentleman felt bewildered. With puzzled looks he said, “He has no daughter. Who told you he has one?”
“Is it so? He has no daughter. Then he must have been weeping for the death of his wife.”
“Shut up,” roared his maternal uncle. It is a shame that even a person of your age should be indulging in such inauspicious words. He is not yet married and how could he have a daughter? You have not been able to mend your evil nature even at this advanced age! It is too late to begin now.”
She felt that she did not deserve these reproaches from the churlish maternal uncle of the youth. Was this the reward of all her kindness and sympathy bestowed on him?
The old gentleman’s words were a puzzle to all.
Everybody felt that the carriage must have been bewitched. Everybody felt that it was Iswar Rao’s duty to give a convincing solution to the riddle. All eyes were turned towards him for a clue.
Iswar Rao was in a dilemma. He had never been in such a predicament as this. He felt that the floor of the carriage was sinking under his feet. How did the teacher happen to be his sister’s husband? Why did he also weep? These two questions stared at him.
If he told them the truth he would become the laughing stock of the whole world; his name would be printed in bold headlines in the newspapers and some malicious author would take his experiences into account and exaggerating them weave them into a fictitious tale. His name would lie in the mouth of all. He would be held up as a warning to all insurance agents in future. This would spread like wild fire and might finally reflect on the company he represented. There would be much ado about nothing.
His only thought was how to get out of the awkward situation without any blot on his honour. There seemed to be no way out. In a moment all the people would besiege him and subject him to cross examination.
When he was engrossed in thought the grand old lady asked the father of the teacher, “Please, sir, when he has neither wife nor daughter why did he weep so bitterly over their loss?”
The old gentleman replied as if he was quite put out and disgusted with his son. He said, “Madam, no one need bother about his weeping. It is his fate.” This reply did not go a long way in solving the puzzle. Then his uncle commented on the trite explanation of his father. He said, “Poor fellow! For the last one month he has been suffering from a peculiar mental aberration. His mind has been slightly touched. He sits sullen and morose for hours together without talking to anybody. At the slightest suggestion of any unpleasant thing or sometimes without any apparent reason he bursts into hysterical sobs. This is his trouble. We are taking him to the mental hospital at Vizag for treatment.
Stung to the quick, perhaps, by the uncharitable and uncomplimentary words of his uncle (which in his view were a gross misrepresentation of facts) the teacher who had been strangely silent all the while blurted out at least, “What a mad world is this! None but the mad think I’m mad. This astrologer, even at the first examination of my physiognomy, said that soon after my marriage my wife would die and even if I were to beget a child it would also follow her. Now would my uncle give his daughter in marriage to me?”
All the passengers who listened to the teacher with rapt attention were filled with contempt for Iswar Rao. “Father, he did not stop there with his predictions. He told me that I would also die in a train disaster. Even if I were to survive it I would surely be run over by a car or at least a bullock-cart,” added the teacher weeping again. Iswar Rao went mad temporarily. This whole world with all its people seemed to whirl round him like a merry-go-round. “Surely this is a mad world I am living in. Pure truth is unendurable and horrible. People go mad even at the first sight of it,” he thought with infinite self-pity.
Then the old woman took him by the hand and said, “You knave! What devil made you utter such atrocious predictions to the youth?”
“You wept over the loss of your sister? What about that?” asked another gentleman looking at Iswar Rao.
All the people were looking daggers at Iswar Rao. He felt that his body was being cut into pieces. The situation was extremely intolerable.
The train had arrived at Bezwada. Even before the train had stopped, Iswar Rao abruptly opened the door of the carriage, landed on the platform and drowned himself in the sea of people.
The old woman and the rest of the people, after an exchange of thoughts, came to the unanimous conclusion that Iswar Rao also was mad.
* * * * *
