The Ploughman

Before the beginning of August last year, Manidhar bista had come running ten times if he´d come once, to employ Pudke damai as a ploughman. So Pudke had ploughed his fields and done various odd jobs in his house, and this had earned him a full nine measures of corn. The grain had been allotted to him the day the bista´s barn was filled that November. It was Pudke´s profession to plough for others; this was how he made his Jiving.
Pudke damai was exactly thirty. Sometime ago, his wife had died. She had not left any children, and so he lived alone. But now he was able to marry again. Six miles from his village there lived a twenty two year old damai girl named Ujeli. She was just as stout and hardworking as he was. We will love one another, for sure, thought Pudke. And afteT the last crop was sown that year and he had some free time, he put on his best coat and went to visit her. She gave him chiura and green pickle, kept back from the midday snack in fields, and asked him,
"When will we eat the chiura of your wedding day?"
"In November, perhaps?" said Pudke and smiled.
"Is that just a hope?" asked Ujeli
 
"No it will certainly happen!"
Back home, he told Manidhar that die wedding was fixed for November.
A few days later, Pudke tethered the old ox in its stall after a long day of ploughing the mustard field. It seemed perfectly healthy that evening, but the very next day it died. This caused a tremendous fuss, and Pudke was blamed for ploughing badly. Manidhar claimed that he could no longer afford to give Pudke his share of the crop for the year. After all, how couid Manidhar bear such a toss as the death of his great old ox? On the day that the crop came in in November, Pudke wept and begged for forgiveness, but Manidhar would not soften.
How couldhe go to see Ujelinowwidi any kind of cheer? Would she still agree to marry him? No, he didn´t think she would dishonour him — she would marry him, alright. But how would he feed and support her? And all he had was a tiny field producing only half a measure of corn. And there was barely a sackful left now.
Manidhar bista has refused him his share — what reward did he hope for in heaven after causing misery to the poor? There were not many days left in the month — the month within which he had promised to marry. What could he tell Ujeli? How were they to meet? He could think of no solution. But even as he sat there thinking, Ujeli appeared before him.
"Men are alt sinners!" she said "They string up other men´s daughters in nooses of hope!"
Pudke understood full well what she meant, but what answer could he give her? His eyes filled with tears. Could Ujeli bear to watch her man cry?
"He didn´t give you your share, and now you sit here crying! You won´t have to keep me, you know. I have my own skills too: lean sew and earn money. If you have to, just move back the date a little."
Pudke got busy, and the wedding was set for December. But weddings don´t happen just like that. He needed an outfit for himself. And the bride should be given a skirt and a blouse, a shawl and a waistband at the very least. There would have to be beer, and spirit too. Nor could they omit to slaughter a pig. He reckoned he´d need at least one hundred rupees. How could he borrow that now?
He went to Manidhar´s house: who else would trust him? A loan of 120 was agreed. 10 was deducted as commission, his house and his fields were pledged as security, he was bound to plough for a year for no payment… In the end, he came home with 90 rupees, at ten percent interest for a term of one year. At the end of the month, he brought Ujeli home with trumpets sounding. The very next day, Pudke began ploughing Manidhar´s fields, and Ujeli began sewing vests and blouses.
Every evening when Pudke came back from a long day´s ploughing, Ujeli would greet him cheerily with a great wide smile, and fill pipe with tobacco. As soon as he saw her, he would forget his exhaustion.
January, February… the months went by. But as soon as March began, Pudke became very ill. The fever stayed with him for a whole fortnight. Even when it had abated, he could not leave his bed. As soon as he heard that Pudke´s fever was better, Manidhar sent his man around to the house to ask when he was coming back to work. But Pudke could hardly get up. What he really needed was good food and rest, but there wasn´t a grain of food in the house. Ujeti´s three rupees had already been paid up to the shaman for sacrificing a black chicken at the crossroads. Ujeli had had no time to sew while tending her husband, so her income ceased too.
In the morning, Ujeli went round the whole village, trying to borrow a little rice and corn, but no one would lend her anything. Manindher even scolded her because Pudke wasn´t at work. She was in despair. She would willingly live on water alone, but her sick husband had to have something to eat. What could she do now? Even if she did manage to provide a meal the next morning, she would have to go home to her parents´ in the evening for a few pounds of grain. But she hadn´t yet solved the problem. She was on her way home tired and disconsolate, when she met Chaure´s mother fetching water from the spring. She had promised Ujeli a small measure of rice for the blouse Ujeli hadsewn for her. Sonow at least, she could give poor Pudke some rice, although she herself would have to eat a thin cornflour soup.
Next day, Ujeli fed the sick man in the morning and then set off to her mother´s home without eating anything herself. That evening she came home, bearing rice for him and com for herself.
Thanks to Ujeli´s attentions, Pudke was fit for work much sooner than expected. She begged him to rest for a few more days, but he just went off to plough the rest of Manidhar´s fields. So she took up
 
her sewing again. In September, Ujeli gavebirth to a son, and Pudke was overjoyed.
Then November came around again, and Manidhar´s man demanded payment at once. Pudke and Ujeli went to his house and begged for mercy. But Manidhar would not listen. He ordered that Pudke be locked in his cellar. Ujeli could not bear iL
"First pay us what you owe us for a whole years ploughing, then we´ll pay you back. How can you lend 90 rupees, then demand 132 back? You should be ashamed!"
When she shouted at him, Manidhar read the agreement again. It was quite firm in its terms. Sohe said, "If you want to get your husband out, go and fetch the money. There is no point gabbling at me!"
"Where can I go? How can I bring you money? If we had money to pay off our debts, we´d never have begged you for charity. And it´s not charity, either, it´s payment for ploughing your fields!"
"Thisdamai woman just says what she likes! She should better ather age. If you love your husband, go and work. Earn some money and set him free!"
"Hey,bista, watch your tongue! "roared Ujeli. Foramoment she was blinded by rage. She was even deaf to the cries of the child in her lap.
Unable to bear any more of this, Pudke interrupted them. "You have the right to my house. But you have no right to destroy our honour. I hereby give up my house and my land. You just take it over. WeVe leaving."
Pudke relinquished ownership of the house and land of his forefathers, picked up his son and led Ujeli away. Ujeli clung to her husband.
"What are we going?" sh e asked
Pudke walked on a little further, then he tookhis son by the hand.
"To Assam. We´ll keep cows."
(Original title Hali. From the Sajha Katha anthology, 196S.)