The Pension Case by Poojan Jani | Tr: Harish Mahuvakar

‘Sir, a case not found in the last portfolio you sent with the peon’, Miss Pandya entered into my chamber and said.
Darshan was busy in signing the files. He didn’t answer for a few minutes.
‘Sir.’
Darshan took the portfolio kept aside and showing it to her asked, ‘This one?’
‘Yes Sir.’
Miss Pandya didn’t expect such an answer from him. She was confused to respond.
‘Taking it to my home’, said he and pressed the button to call the peon. The peon came. ‘Ask the driver to keep the jeep ready. I’ll go now,’ he said. Miss Pandya came out in the same confusion: he never goes against any rule, then why does he take this case at his home? Did she make any mistake?

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‘Stop Ravi, one minute only.’ Hardly had they started and then he asked the driver to stop. The driver saw him searching the bag so he asked ‘Did you forget anything in the chamber Sir?’ He didn’t get any response so he got off but Darshan stopped him, ‘No need to go back.’
The driver was surprised but he remained silent. He started the jeep. As they came out of the office campus the artificial smile disappeared. He eased himself and rested on the back. Opened up upper buttons of his formal shirt. He found himself relaxed.
He began to see the pension case lying in his lap. The name written on the file made it very heavier as it was a big stone. He couldn’t open it up as the name matched to his own name. Miss Pandya had sent it to sign the cases. He watched the file heading. He knew the content perhaps. And that made him weak.
The driver couldn’t refrain himself. “Sir, why carry the work at home today?’
He didn’t respond. This was again surprise for him. His master is talkative. Never remains silent, and today so speechless? He adjusted the side mirror to trace something. He couldn’t find anything satisfactory. ‘Sir you never take anything at home. That’s why I asked you today?’ This time he heard his words. Darshan felt that the driver echoed Miss Pandya’s words. He smiled a bit.
At the noise of his jeep Ketaki rushed outside and said, ‘Give me your bag.’
As if he heard not Ketaki’s words, without any response, he went inside the room. Ketaki saw his face and found the answer.
Darshan went into his room. He pushed the door to shut but it remained half shut only. Finally he opened up the file of the pension case. His doubt was clarified when he saw the couple’s photograph. He couldn’t decide: whether he should be proud of himself or not? His throat went dry. Salty air filled the lungs. As if he was trying hard to breathe. The air gushed outside. Perhaps it was annoyed of him.
‘Darshan what sort of query is it? You don’t have time to respond too? And why are you so perspiring?’ Ketaki’s voice reflected her concern. He was turned into a statue but she gently put her hand on his shoulder and gave water. ‘Take it, dear.’
He gave her the pension case. Words flung from her mouth: This is the father’s case- Your father’s case. Darshan fixed eyes on her. Now it was Ketaki’s turn to become wordless. She turned pages one after the other. There was no heart in it. She patted his shoulder again and went away from there.
Darshan felt air heavy. After some time he went to the window and opened it. Fresh air rushed in. He welcomed it. He watched outside. The children in the park were playing. He tried to find himself amongst them. He was the wicket keeper of his street team. In the game ‘hide and seek’ he always was the leader. Stood near the net while playing volleyball. A spectator waiting for his turn at the badminton game played without a court.
The street light flashed up startled him. Sudden light shut his eyes. He made no efforts to open them. He began to feel the park air into his self. He always liked the park. As he grew up he had to unwillingly return home before his father’s arrival. For a while he felt as if he got late in the park and returned home, he faced anger and thrashing of the father. All the time he had heard his father advising him on the matter of education, getting job and so on. He felt embarrassed and confusion enveloped him. But now he didn’t get not angry and remained calm.
He turned to the table. He pulled out the service book of his father. The old yellow pages smelt horribly. He drank water. Took deep breaths and began to see the book. Identity marks as shown in the columns brought the father’s face into his eyes. This was the face that hardly expressed any smile.
He continued to match the entries in the pension case and the service book. As an approval authority he hadn’t studied any case like this. But today he was making efforts to find errors. He studied from the first entry of salary to the last one of increment. Noticing the amount of his father’s salary now he understood why he was relentlessly telling him to study. ‘My office has vacancy for an operator. Tomorrow you’ll come with me and join it.’ From the park when he was stealthily entering the room at his back he heard heavy command of him. He was aghast with it. His feet got fixed as if his father drew a no crossing line.
On that night he opposed it to the mother but she behaved like a detached one. The next day he had to follow the father. A computer was allocated to him and the instructions were also given that he learn speedily the things from the other expert operator. He had heard the office name, table number 8, subject, date, reference etc. The same thing began to echo in his mind. Something pressed him to look aside. Was there anyone? He looked aside but found there none.
Initially he lacked typing speed so as an operator he had to take on hand his father’s work only. The father dictated and he typed. In those early days he extensively used backspace key. Then speed came, he understood the work but he had no heart in them. Then he was instructed to handle Mr. Gadhvi’s work, table number 5. The instruction depressed him. He found his self into the keys of the keyboard. He felt he was gaoled and shouted to free him but no one listened to him.
Finally on a day he left the office. Father knew nothing and he left. He didn’t know where to go, what to do. There was only a thought to leave the office and the city. He walked and walked. Now that he’s an officer, hardly he treads on the land, he is surprised how much had he walked on those three-four days! For four days he had heart but then the home stood before him. Heedless to father’s wrath he returned home. He reached before his father arrival from the office. He hugged mother and cried a lot. He came into his room with the mother. He didn’t remember when he stopped crying and slept. When he got up next morning the first he question he faced: how to stand before the father? For a while he thought to jump down from the window and die. But the next moment he controlled himself.
With a great effort he came down from his room. The meal was ready. After full four days he saw the food served in his dish. Like a preying chittah he attacked on it. But then there was an order: Anjali, next time when Darshan pays, his dish be served. Darshan stared at him. The mother came out and said, ’Why did you say so?’ He said, ‘His education paid him nothing and the same thing won’t earn him livelihood.’
He got up from the dinning table and went to his room. The world outside the window again tempted him. He looked at the dark sky. Like the stars farther away he wished to run away. It was the midnight and once again he left the home, taking all the money from the father’s valet.
Darshan made a remark with a red pen, flagged it and turned to the next page. On that page he found a note in red and that drew his immediate attention. It broke his reading speed. His father had taken loans for buying home and buying a bike. He had repaid them just two year before his retirement. Darshan saw his car parked outside in the varandah.
The father was very happy as he owned a house. He disliked when he saw a very small one. That day rose before him. He compared his small house with those of his friends. He made a tussle on the matter. Darshan now saw his own self into the service book. He began to feel for that small house. He began to attach each corner of it felt love. The attachment to the house seemed to merge with the attachment to the father. So sudden change in him for the fathers was really surprising. A broad smile sat upon his lips.
He slowly moved ahead. He glanced over the entries of transfer and promotion. The experiences because of the father’s transfer became live now. He took time to adapt to new changes. Hardly had he settled then the transfer came. This was the reason he missed a best friend during his teens. On getting a job of an officer he let go his grudges and when he returned the house it was locked. He now realised why it was so. ‘At least they might have informed me. The neighbours might have been told about their where about. Did I come to demand my share?’ He angrily muttered. He determined never to return again to the house. Before the anger pour upon the service book he controlled his feelings.
The LTC entry now caught his attention. His father utilised each block and took the mother with him. Once or twice he had insisted to go with the father. At that time the mother had favoured him, ‘If Darshan not with us, I’ll not go with you.’
‘He’s not a child now that he need to be with the parents. He’s to prepare for his exams. You pack our luggage only.’ The father ordered and the mother had no courage to disobey. He was disheartened by the father’s argument. Why he didn’t take me? Didn’t he like my presence? Didn’t like to expend for me? These were the question he had at that time and the same returned again. They still remained unanswered. His hands got moistened. He wiped them and made remarks with a red pen. Flagged it and moved ahead.
When he married to Ketaki, he made many calls to the home. Each time as the father recognised his voice he put the receiver aside and avoided talks. The mother always saw the reflection of his anger. As no other way he had, he ultimately wrote letters but they too were not received and returned. He knew this was also a sign of his terrible anger. Then he let go the efforts. Often he found the office employees used speed dial to make calls and they talked to their homes. He would be angry with himself as his costly smartphone was useless for such a need.
Gradually his world began to change. There were only two things in that new world: the office and Ketaki. She often proposed, ‘Let’s go home. With the time everything changes. Their blood is in you. For that very thing you should forget your grudges.’ But the words of the father always rose into his memory and stopped him to take any step. In such a time he stared at her as if to get some unknown support.
Now he checked the father’s leaves’ entry. Most of the leaves were taken during his exam times and the winter months when he always fell ill. Except them not a single leave was marked in the service book. Very quickly he turned that page.
Now he stopped to see the nomination forms. He noticed that nearly three times some changes were made. First of all his grandpa and grandma were the nominees. After their death he saw his mother’s name Anjali and his own name Darshan. The last change showed that his name was removed. The reason was given ‘as the son deceased.’
He was aghast. He felt breathless. He tried to see out of the window. Some noises were mixed up with those of the playing children. He stood up and went to the window. Now the noise had disappeared and silence returned. Under the street light he saw some shadows. He gazed and gazed them.
He returned to the desk. Once again he carefully checked the nomination forms. Below that page he made a big question mark with the red pen. After a while he made a remark: ‘Need cross verification of the death certificate.’
His eyes began to fill up.

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