between warm mud and lush green paddy.
Sweat was dripping hard on the ground,
as he saw many people working all around.
His father was rich and owner of the land,
the boy saw labourers working hand-in-hand.
The boy was confused, suspicious rather,
Said he, “Is the entire land yours father?”
“Yes, yes why not it is mine, only mine,
the people here start to work from nine.”
The boy said, “Why don’t you work the same?”
The father said, “Its not everybody’s game.
They are poor you see, not at all like us,
Do not think about this, do not make a fuss.”
The reply in the mind was deeply lurking,
the conscience inside was strongly barking.
They went further near the shade of a tree,
the pleasant cold wind was blowing so free.
“Father, will not the labourers rest awhile?
they have dug so long nearly half a mile.”
“I pay them money, so they work for me.
This is the rule, this is how it should be.”
Said the boy,
“Can money buy labour, the physical pain?”
The father replied,
“Don’t think rubbish, just think of the gain.
Their daily food of stale rice and onion slice.
They will be awarded with this as their toils price!”
Said the boy,
‘Dripping from their mouth I see blood in red.
The father replied,
‘It is nothing but sweat that in skin did fade.’
Said the boy,
‘Some may even tire down dead!’
Said the father,
‘It is painful you see, this is ultimate destiny.
For just a penny, you will find labourers so many.’
Being vexed the boy said, “Daddy, this is unjust”.
Father kissed his son and said,
“I am your father, don’t you trust”
With tears in his eyes the son said,
“I love the father, but trust not the man.
It is easy to be lenient, I know you can.
Why torment them when they are willingly yours?”
“They fear me and if they leave, I will remorse.”
The father saw in his son a rebel in the making,
understood that the foot of his kingdom is shaking.
Caressing his son the father said ,
“You are small, you won’t understand rather.”
Pulling himself away said the son,
“I see a pitiless man and a loving father.”
The sun was scorching, the father was unwell.
He understood in innocents humans do dwell.
He sat in the shade of a tree,
his heart was paining and beating fast.
He knew that his end was nearing at last.
The father gave his hand and the son accepted so,
with a smile in his face the father died with grace.
The son never before saw anyone die,
so being casual he did not even cry.
From his father’s mouth blood trickled down,
soaking the left portion of the gown.
Said a weeping labourer,
“Dripping from his mouth I see blood in red.”
The son remembered his father and replied,
“It is nothing but sweat that in skin did fade.”
While the labourers sobbed, the son said,
“Cry not for your master weep for my father,
he was after all a good man rather.”
- Prasenjit Das © 97-99
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