Feast

D. Chandra Sekhar has published six collections of poems, one long poem, two collections of short stories, and one introductory essay on Vishda Kamaroopa, besides many book reviews. He won a special prize from SIRIKONA for his book, comprising sketches. He also won a special prize for his poetry book. He is working as a senior officer in the Indian Navy. He lives in Visakhapatnam

Original (Telugu): Darbhamulla Chandrasekhar

Translation: Elanaaga

“Sir, could you give me some biryani?”

I was sitting at the cash counter. When I heard the entreaty, I glanced at the person who had uttered it. He was a middle-aged man. The burden of life’s travails was fully evident on his face. He was attired in an old office uniform.

“What do you mean by some?”

“Less than half a handful, sir … that is, roughly a spoonful.”

What wretchedness is this? I thought. “Is this a new way of scrounging? Huh, a spoonful! Aren’t you ashamed? What a ploy have you invented – beg a spoonful from each of ten people, and that will do the trick. It will suffice for you. None would complain either. Your cunning is smart,” I jumped down his throat.

Slighted, he stood in a corner outside.

He was still standing there when I looked in that direction after an hour. My brain had cooled down a bit. Let go, I thought, and got a smidgen of biryani packed. Handing it over to him, I said, “Take this. Why beat around the bush? You can straightaway beg as well.” I was about to move. He suddenly fell over my feet, whimpering.

“I don’t want any biryani, sir. I am in dire straits. I lost my job. All the commodities in our kitchen are exhausted. I have a wife and a small girl. The kid is naïve to the core. She says, ‘Come home early, dad. We would dine together.’”

“Since the paltry amount of food we have doesn’t suffice for all three of us, I lie to her: ‘No, my cutie. My boss is giving me a feast at our office today.’ The same thing is recurring for the past two days. Disbelieving, she smelled my fingers yesterday. That’s why I am asking for a spoonful of it. Sir, I have had no food for the past two days. I only wanted to rub the biryani on my fingers.”

My eyes turned teary. In a hoarse voice, I asked him, “If I give you a small job, can you do it here?”

He wiped his tears and replied, “I will do any work, sir.” Determination rang in his voice.

“Come, then. Have the feast first, and carry home the rest. You are the security guard of this hotel from tomorrow.”

Though he didn’t enjoy any feast, his face displayed the contentment of having a sumptuous meal. I, too, had the mirth of inviting the whole town to a feast.

*