From my book Frozen Moments—Poverty is the biggest crime.
Poverty is the biggest crime.
It is a disease in which one human being uses another human being against his will, like domesticated animals, for his hunger and need. He forces him to do all such acts that he would not have done himself, which this so-called civilized society calls terrible, the worst, inhuman, unethical, and whatnot. Man cannot be good or bad just for his art of lucid oratory, fashionable, costly clothing, and showing off his human feelings, but these days, these are the only attributes that matter the most.
people pretend to serve humans and humanity
Few people pretend to serve humans and humanity, using them and their necessities. It has been the same for centuries and will stay the same forever. When people were buying and selling people, they never felt guilt for their inhuman acts or remorse for their actions. Even today, in the name of democracy, they divide people based on caste, creed, and religion for political gains. One can see people with these thoughts in different colors and wearing different clothes across different societies.
Cleaning blood
Many people are readily available to sell the cleaning methods, these loaves and butter. It hardly matters to them whether their bread and butter are filled with the blood of innocent people. For a piece of this bread, someone who calls himself an artist sells his conscience. If someone has excellent knowledge of the law, he compromises for such a piece of bread on the pretext of his professional ethics. Someone relishes such a piece of bread in the name of religion. Few journalists portraying themselves as the absolute masters of history and social science eat this piece of bread with pride and dignity.
Human beings talk about the betterment of humanity but keep their tyrannical behavior alive (against which they speak ill) and show off their fight for such injustices. Politicians glorify a personality for their political purposes and necessities. Politicians always say, “It is the public who helps us win. I am a public servant.”
I saw such a devoted public servant in North Chandameta.
North Chandameta Colliery had two pits. The pit office was near the shaft, by which workers went down for work. Next to the pit office was an attendance room where everyone was getting their attendance marked before going to work. The general shift officers used the pit office during the morning shift. The general shift started at eight o’clock in the morning. One wall of the pit office and the attendance office was common. The pit office had big glass windows on each wall to keep an eye on the work area. There was a space near the pit office, with a road running north to south on the east side of the space. There was a workshop on the downside of the road. The cap lamp room was next to the workshop. Everybody going down the pit took their cap lamp.
The token system was there to check the people going down the pit and coming out. Workers, staff, and officers were assigned cap lamp numbers to verify the presence of underground conditions.
Mine worked in three shifts of eight hours’ duration each.
By the side of the workshop was a road towards the exhaust pit, over which the exhaust fan was installed. Dirty air from every working place underground was being taken out of the mine by this fan, and fresh air was sent down through another pit. Thus, fresh air reaches all workplaces.
The store used to fulfill the mine’s day-to-day spare parts requirements. The store was just below the north-south road leading to the fan house on the north side. In the same row next to the store was a cooperative society store, and then there was a small, fenced garden. The manager’s office was next to the garden. The Bill section was attached to the manager’s office, and then there was a personnel section, a canteen, an assistant manager’s office, a safety officer’s office, and a ventilation officer’s office in a row.
The colliery engineer’s office was in one corner of the workshop. The staff’s office was on the south side of the space on the upper side of the north-south road. Here, staff wrote their report in their duty book and passed the information to their counterparts, who were ready for the next shift.
The siding office
The siding office was in front of the canteen, on the west side of the road. There was a tippler near the siding office. Tippler emptied the loaded coal tubs from the pit in a dumper. The dumper unloaded the coal on the railway siding. Coal was loaded in railway wagon-by-wagon loaders. Siding in charge in his office marked the wagon loader’s attendance. Seventy to eighty percent of wagon loaders were women. Most of these wagon loaders were on permanent rolls of the company. Temporary wagon-loading workers were engaged by the siding in charge when required.
Wagon loaders
Wagon loaders were very poor people. Women’s conditions among them were pathetic. In their society, whenever a man wished, he could leave his wife and children and take a new wife, which was not considered wrong under their prevailing system. It was an ordinary matter for them. Due to these habits, drinking and gambling were commonplace in their society, and most were in debt to private moneylenders. Hunger and poverty were their fate; they were happy and carefree despite this.
After completing my engineering degree, I joined North Chandameta Colliery as an executive trainee. It was a small underground mine producing ten thousand tons of coal monthly. Hardly three to four racks of railway wagon sets were loaded in a month. Apart from the colliery manager, Mr. Jain, the assistant manager was Mr. Sabarwal, the safety officer, and Mr. Khurana, the ventilation officer. There was a labor officer, and I was an executive trainee.
A dhoti-kurta-clad person
One fine day, at about eight o’clock in the morning, a man of wheatish complexion, well-built, wrestler type, of medium height, wearing a dhoti and kurta, stood at the pit office gate and asked, “Who is Jain here?”
Mr. Jain said, “I am Jain.”
“So, you are Jain,” a dhoti-kurta-clad person roared.
Workers assembled outside the pit office in the open space and shouted, “Inqilab, Zindabad (Long live the revolution). Bharat Mata Ki Jai ho (Victory for Mother India).”
A dhoti-kurta-clad person told workers to stay silent, and then he told Mr. Jain, “What do you think of yourself? A hero? I will bury you alive here, just now; no one will come to your rescue. How dare you ill-treat our workers?”
After hearing these words of a dhoti-kurta-clad person, a gathering of workers shouted, “Inqilab, Zindabad (Long live the revolution). Jain, Murdabad (Down), Murdabad (Down). Bharat Mata Ki Jai ho (Victory for Mother India).”
With each threat from Mr. Jain by a wrestler-type dhoti-kurta-clad man, a gathering of workers shouted in a frenzy, “Jain, Murdabad (Down), Murdabad (Down).”
After threatening Mr. Jain, a dhoti-kurta-clad person addressed the gathering of workers, “My dear brothers, I have told everything to Jain. After this, if he troubles any of my brother-workers, I promise I will not spare him. It is a warning to other officers as well.”
Workers were shouting in a full frenzy now, “Inqilab, Zindabad (Long live the revolution).”
I saw such a scene for the first time in my life. I was astonished and shocked.
Mr. Sabarwal whispered, “Let us go out of this office.”
manager’s office
I thought the dhoti-kurta-clad person would not let us leave the office, but we came out anyway. No one tried to stop us. We went to the manager’s office and sat there. Mr. Sabarwal informed the manager about the incident at the pit office. He heard it but remained busy with his paperwork.
Both of us sat there. After about fifteen minutes, Mr. Jain entered the manager’s office, red-faced, and sat. The manager just saw him and once again became busy with his paperwork. After about 10 minutes, a dhoti-kurta-clad person entered the manager’s office. I thought he would create a scene here, but nothing happened. He approached Mr. Jain and sat beside him. The manager saw them and remained busy with his work. A dhoti kurta-clad person apologized to Mr. Jain. He said, “Mr. Jain, I am sorry for whatever I told you in the pit office.”
Mr. Jain did not speak a word. A dhoti kurta-clad person kept repeating his words. Mr. Jain remained silent. Then the dhoti-kurta-clad person told the manager, “Sir, you, please make him understand. He is angry with me.”
The manager stopped his work and told something to the labor officer, then said to Mr. Jain, “Whatever happened today in the pit office, he informed me in advance.” I tried to inform you, but your phone was busy. Later, I went to the pit office and saw his car, so I returned to my office. All these matters are due to the head mason. Rest, he will tell you.”
After hearing this, Mr. Jain looked relaxed. It appeared on his face.
A dhoti-kurta-clad person held Mr. Jain’s hand and said, “I am not at fault. I informed Sir in advance. Now I hope you are no longer upset with me.”
Mr. Jain was not relaxed yet but said, “Ok, it’s all right.”
The dhoti-kurta-clad person continued, “Mr. Jain, your head mason Dinesh Lal is unhappy with you. You have become tough on him. He was continuously complaining about this in our union office. Since it is a time of union membership, I have taken this step. I am sure our members will grow. You will agree that if workers’ ill feelings are addressed, they work better, and management’s fear remains intact. Now you can take work from them much more effectively. Eighty percent of workers in this mine are members of our union. That’s why I took such steps, but please forget whatever happened today.”
Mr. Jain said, “It’s okay.”
He looked relaxed now. In the meantime, tea was served. Everybody took tea. After taking tea, looking at me, a dhoti-kurta-clad person asked the manager, “I see a new officer on your team.”
The manager told him about me. Everybody exchanged a few light anecdotes, then went to work. There was no more discussion on the morning’s incident. Work continued as usual.
A wildcat strike
After twenty days, wagon loaders went on a wildcat strike (a strike without notice). The person in charge of the siding informed Mr. Sabarwal about this. He was looking after the siding work. After receiving the information, he asked me to come with him. We went to the siding office. We saw a small pandal (a marquee) with a siding workers’ union banner when we reached the siding. Most of the women wagon loaders and a few gent wagon loaders were sitting below the pandal (a marquee). When they saw Mr. Sabarwal, they shouted, “Inqilab, Zindabad (Long live the revolution).” Mr. Sabarwal asked the siding to call a wagon loader’s leader for a talk.
Two women came with siding in charge. Both women were lean and thin, with a wheatish complexion. Their hair was full of oil and combed. They had a big vermilion round mark on their forehead and vermilion in the middle of their hair near the forehead. They wore a clean sari and dark red lipstick in neat attire, unlike their daily work clothes.
Mr. Sabarwal was a soft-spoken and affectionate person. Most of the workers respected him. Rarely did anyone speak to him in a loud tone. Few people denied his instructions. He asked those two women to sit and then talk. They said, “No, sir, we cannot sit before you.”
He asked them, “What is your problem? Why are you on strike?”
“Siding in charge will tell you the reason. Please ask him.” They spoke in unison.
He asked, siding in charge, “What is the matter? Why are they on strike?”
Siding in charge said, “Sir, a new woman has come to work. They are unhappy about that. They don’t want her to work with them.”
“Then don’t allow her to work. What is a problem?” Mr. Sabarwal said.
“But her husband was working here, sir.” Siding in charge said.
“So, she wants to work at her husband’s place?” Mr. Sabarwal asked.
Those two women were observed while he gathered information about one of them from the person in charge of the siding.
“Yes, sir. Her husband was working here. He passed away a few days back.” Siding in charge told.
A widow
“Oh! So, this is the problem,” he said.
Then he tried to explain to those two women, “After all, she is a widow.” What is your trouble? Think about it; if you will allow her to work with you, It will be of help to a poor woman. It is just a matter of time before she will be appointed here.”
“Sir, you do not know her. She is a naughty woman. She has taken her husband’s life. If she works with us, she will also take our husbands’ lives,” one of them said.
Don’t go on her, simpleton’s face. She is a witch.” The second woman said.
“Then, what is the solution?” asked Mr. Sabarwal.
“Stop her from working with us; that is all, or wait for our leader. He will come tomorrow and solve this problem. We cannot go against his decision.” After saying this, both women returned.
When those two women returned, Mr. Sabarwal asked the siding in charge about the woman who had caused the dispute.
Siding in charge told him, “She is the widow of one of our permanent workers, a drunkard. He has been sick for the last few weeks. Despite being on medication, he continued taking liquor. Later, he died. Now his widow has come for work. These women are just mudslinging on her character and creating agitation. I am calling her. You may talk to her if you wish.”
The siding in charge called that woman.
After a while, a woman, around twenty-five, draped in a white sari, came to the office. She was a fair-complexioned, lean, and thin woman. Her hair was dry and arranged disorderly. She had a beautiful face. Her lips were dry. She was wearing an almost broken chappal. It looked like she had not had a cup of tea since morning. When she came into the office, she said namaste to Mr. Sabarwal and stood in the corner.
“What happened to your husband?” He asked her.
“He was sick and was an alcoholic. Whenever I tried to stop him, he rebuked me even more. One day, he vomited blood and became almost lifeless. I carried him to the hospital, and on the way, he vomited blood thrice and died.” She said.
“May God give peace to his soul. Who else is there in your family?” Mr. Sabarwal asked her.
“No one, sir. My parents died when I was a kid. My Uncle and Auntie looked after me. Later, they married me to get rid of their burden. They got me married to a sick older man, double my age. Now he has also left me. There is no one now.” She replied. Her voice was full of pain and emptiness.
Mr. Sabharwal said, “Please go.”
She went away. Mr. Sabarwal told the Siding in charge, “Let me talk to the leader.”
We went to the Manager. He informed him of the strike and related matters. The manager telephoned the leader. He assured him that he was coming.
We went underground for our work. In the evening, we went to the siding. The siding in charge informed that the leader came and went to strike persons. He talked with the woman because others were on strike because of her. Later, he told me to inform you that the matter will be settled by tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.
The other day, I went with Mr. Sabharwal to the siding at about ten o’clock. Today, that widow was there in a clean dress with good makeup. She was wearing a clean sari. Her hair was well combed. She was wearing a light shade of lipstick. Today, she looked beautiful.
At about ten o’clock, the leader came. He went to the striking workers. They shouted – “Inqilab, Zindabad (Long live the revolution), Bharat Mata Ki Jai (Victory for Mother India).”
After shouting slogans, the workers’ leader gave a speech, “Fellow workers, today, to redress our problem, our beloved leader has come. We are very much indebted to him. Our dear leader stood with us whenever we faced trouble for our cause. We are grateful to him. Today he came to redress our problem. Whatever decision he takes, we will accept it. Please welcome our leader with a round of applause first.
The leader was welcomed with clapping, then a few workers garlanded him. He started his speech: “Brothers and sisters, thank you very much for your respect and love.
We are ordinary people. Pain and pleasure are our friends. If we do not work, we will die due to hunger. We work hard for two meals for our children and ourselves. We work hard for a piece of cloth to cover our bodies. Today, this poor woman lost her breadwinner. If you will not have compassion for her, then who else will? Only the poor understand the poor’s grief. This useless management will take months to give her service. In this situation, who else will help her other than you people? Your concerns are genuine. I promise you I will try my best to make her understand. I am sure she will understand everything. Please have faith in me and take back your strike.”
Everybody clapped and shouted, “Bharat Mata Ki Jai” (Victory for Mother India). Zindabad (used to express approval).”
Thus, the strike was called off. There was mirth and glee all around. The woman who caused this strike sat in the leader’s car. He took her with him.
After seeing his compassion for the poor, I respected him from the core of my heart. If someone other than him had been there, he would have used that woman’s poverty and called her to his place, but he took her with him in his car to convince those workers that he was their only savior. How easily he solved the problem. This world is so beautiful and safe only due to such people. Perhaps this is the reason why the management keeps leaders in good humor.
The other afternoon, when I went to the siding, I saw the woman the leader had taken with him working with two other women who complained against her. Today, women leaders and this woman were not only working together but also talking like friends. I was astonished to see this. I asked Siding in charge, “What kind of miracle is this? Yesterday, the woman talked badly about her, and they are friends today. I thought the leader would engage her for work elsewhere, but this is a miracle.”
“Yes, sir, it is the leader’s miracle. He is famous for these kinds of miracles. Please have a seat. I am getting you a cup of hot tea.” Siding in charge said, laughing.
He called that woman and told her to bring tea from the teashop.
She happily went to bring tea. She looks normal. I came back to the pit office after taking a cup of tea. I told Mr. Sabarwal about this, and he heard it and smiled. Mr. Jain said, “Kid, in due course of time, you will understand everything.”
Mr. Khurana was the ventilation officer of that mine. His way of talking was different. He asked, “Girls are not studying in my school.”
“No,” I said.
“That is why everybody is a bookworm there. That’s why you thought the leader took her with him on compassion for making her understand those women’s concerns. He said, laughing.
Mr. Jain said, “Forget it. Khurana always talks like this. You will understand everything in due course of time.”
And the matter was over.
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