A great storm occurred last night. A jamun tree fell in the lawn of the secretariat. When the gardener saw it in the morning, he found that a man was pinned down under the tree.
The gardener rushed to the peon; the peon rushed to the clerk; the clerk rushed to the superintendent; and the superintendent rushed to the lawn outside. Within minutes a throng gathered around the man pinned down under the tree.
‘The poor jamun tree, how abundantly it bore fruit,’ a clerk remarked.
‘And how juicy its jamuns used to be’, the second clerk recalled.
‘I used to carry home a pouchful during the season. How joyfully my children ate its jamuns’, the third clerk said, almost on the verge of tears.
‘But this man,’ the gardener pointed at the crushed man.
‘Yes, this man…!’ the superintendent pondered.
‘He must have died. If such a heavy trunk were to fall on a person, crushing his hip, how can he survive,’ the second clerk said.
‘No, I’m alive’, the crushed man said with difficulty, moaning.
‘He should be pulled out quickly by having the tree removed’, the gardener advised.
‘Seems difficult,’ a lazy fat peon said, ‘the tree trunk is very heavy.’
‘How difficult? the gardener replied. ‘If superintendent sahib orders, then the man crushed under the tree can be pulled out right now with the efforts of 15-20 gardeners, peons and clerks.’
‘The gardener is right!’ many clerks chorused. ‘Let’s try, we’re willing.’
At once many people got ready to lift the tree.
‘Wait!’ the superintendent said. ‘Let me consult the Undersecretary.’
The superintendent went to the Undersecretary; the Undersecretary went to the Deputy Secretary; the Deputy Secretary went to the Joint Secretary; the Joint Secretary went to the Chief Secretary; the Chief Secretary went to the Minister. The Minister spoke to the Chief Secretary; the Chief Secretary conveyed it to the Joint Secretary; the Joint Secretary spoke to the Deputy Secretary; and the Deputy Secretary conveyed it to the Undersecretary. The file kept moving, it took up half the day.
At lunch time, a crowd gathered around the crushed man, and people had different things to say on the matter. A few proactive clerks tried to take the matter into their own hands. They had just decided to remove the tree on their own without waiting for the decision of the government when the superintendent came running with the file and said, ‘We on our own cannot remove this tree from here. We are linked to the Trade Department and this is a matter concerning a tree which comes under the care of the Agriculture Department. Therefore, I am marking this file as urgent and sending it to the Agriculture Department. As soon as we receive their response, this tree will be removed.’
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The next day the Agriculture Department replied that the tree had fallen in the lawn of the Trade Department, therefore the responsibility of removing the tree or not rested with the latter. Enraged at this response the Trade Department promptly wrote back that the responsibility of removing or not removing trees rested with the Agriculture Department; the Trade Department had nothing to do with the matter.
The file kept shuttling thus on the second day as well. In the evening, a response came – ‘We are submitting this matter to the Horticulture Department since this is a matter concerning a fruit-bearing tree. The Agriculture Department is authorized to decide matters relating only to food and farming. The jamun tree is a fruit-bearing tree hence this tree falls within the circle of authority of the Horticulture Department.’
On the third day came the response of the Horticulture Department – a stern response laced with irony. The Secretary of the Horticulture Department seemed to be a man with a literary temperament. He had written, ‘What a surprise! At a time when we are running an ambitious ‘Grow Trees’ campaign, there are such government officers in our country who are recommending cutting down trees – that too a fruit-bearing tree; moreover a jamun tree, whose fruit people eat with great pleasure.’ Our department cannot allow cutting this fruit-bearing tree under any condition.’
‘What to do now’, one of the proactive men remarked. ‘If the tree cannot be cut, then this man should be cut so that he can be pulled out.’
‘See, ’ the man pointed out, ‘if this man is cut right from the middle, meaning from the torso, then one half of the man will come out from one end and the other half will come out from the other end. The tree will stay where it is.’
‘But that way I will die,’ the crushed man protested.
‘He is also right!’ a clerk said.
The man recommending cutting the man in half protested vociferously, ‘You don’t know how much plastic surgery has progressed nowadays. I think that if this man is cut down the middle and pulled out, with plastic surgery he can be put together again.’
Now the file was sent to the Medical Department. The Medical Department acted on it at once and the very next day they sent the most competent plastic surgeon of their department for investigation. The surgeon robustly prodded the body of the crushed man, examined his blood pressure, breathing, his heart and lungs, and reported that plastic surgery could indeed be performed on the man and it would be successful too, but the man would die.
So, this proposal too was rejected.
At night the gardener fed rice and pulses to the crushed man. All around them was a police guard in case people took the law into their own hands and tried to remove the tree by themselves. But a police constable had taken pity and allowed the gardener to feed the crushed man.
The gardener told the crushed man, ‘Your file is moving, hopefully by tomorrow there will be a decision.
The crushed man did not speak.
The gardener said again, ‘Do you have any heirs? If so, then tell me. I will try to inform them.’
‘None,’ the crushed man said with great difficulty. The gardener moved away showing regret.
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At night while putting morsels of khichdi in the mouth of the crushed man the gardener told him, now the matter has gone to the higher-ups. It has been said that there will be a meeting of all the secretaries at the Secretariat tomorrow. Your case will be placed there. Hopefully everything will be all right.’
The crushed man slowly recited Ghalib’s verse with a sigh: Hum ne maana ke taghaaful na karoge lekin; Khaak ho jaayenge hum tum ko khabar hone tak (I know that you won’t ignore me; before you hear of my sad plight, I would have died).
The gardener put his hand over his mouth in amazement, ‘Are you a poet?’
The crushed man slowly nodded his head.
The next day the gardener told the peon and the peon told the clerk. In no time the news spread throughout the Secretariat that the crushed man was a poet; and lo and behold, crowds began arriving to see the poet. News of him spread in the city and, by evening, poets from every locality began to assemble. The Secretariat lawn filled with poets of every variety. And a mushaira (evening of poetry) was organised around the crushed man. Many clerks and even the Undersecretaries of the Secretariat who had a taste for literature and verse stayed on for it. A few poets began to recite their ghazals and poems to the crushed man.
When it was known that the crushed man was a poet, the sub-committee of the Secretariat decided that since the crushed man was a poet, his file was not related to the Agriculture or Horticulture Department but to the Culture Department. The Culture Department was requested to decide the matter as soon as possible so that the unfortunate poet could gain deliverance from the shady tree.
Moving from various sections of the Culture Department, the file reached the Secretary of the Literary Academy. The poor Secretary at once reached the Secretariat on his car and began to interview the crushed man.
‘You are a poet?’ He asked.
‘Oh yes!’ the crushed man replied.
‘What pen-name do you use?’
‘Oas (dew).
‘Oas!’ the Secretary exclaimed forcefully. ‘Are you the same Oas whose poetry collection, Oas ke Phool (Flowers of Dew) was published recently?’
The crushed man nodded in assent.
‘Are you a member of our Academy?’ the Secretary asked.
‘No.’
‘Strange!’ the Secretary exclaimed: ‘Such a great poet, author of Oas ke Phool and not a member of our Academy. Uff, uff! What a mistake we have committed, such a great poet and how he is crushed by obscurity!’
‘Crushed by a tree, not by obscurity! Please pull me out from under this tree.’
‘I will make arrangements presently!’ the Secretary said and reported to his department immediately.
The next day, the Secretary came running to the poet and said, ‘Congratulations! Send me some sweets. Our official academy has chosen you to be a member of its central committee. Here, take this official order informing you of your selection.’
‘But first pull me out from under this tree,’ the crushed man said with a groan.
He was breathing with great difficulty and from his eyes it appeared that he was convulsed with extreme pain.
‘That we cannot do!’ the Secretary said, adding, ‘we have done what we could. In fact, we can go to the extent that if you die, we can give your wife a stipend. If you submit a request, we can do that too.’
‘I am still alive’, the poet spoke haltingly, ‘keep me alive.’
‘The problem is,’ the Secretary of the official Literary Academy said, rubbing his hands, ‘our Department is only related to culture. The matter of cutting trees is not related to pen and inkpot but the saw and axe, therefore we have written to the Forest Department flagging it as urgent.’
On the following day when the Forest Department men arrived with saws and axes, they were prevented from cutting the tree. They found out that the Foreign Affairs Department had prohibited the cutting of the tree. The reason was that the tree had been planted in the Secretariat lawn a decade ago by the Prime Minister of Petunia. If the tree was cut now, there was a great risk that our relations with the government of Petunia would be damaged forever. ‘But this is a question of a man’s life’, shouted a clerk in anger. ‘On the other hand, a question of relations between two countries,’ the Second Clerk admonished the First Clerk, ‘and do try to understand how much aid the Petunian government gives to our government. Can’t we sacrifice even one man’s life for their friendship?’
‘The poet should die?’
‘Undoubtedly.’
The Undersecretary told the superintendent, ‘The Prime Minister has returned from a foreign visit this morning. The Foreign Affairs Department will present this file before him at 4 p.m. today, and whatever he decides will be accepted by all.’
At 5 p.m. the superintendent himself brought the file to the poet. As soon as he arrived, he shouted, waving the file, ‘The Prime Minister has given an order to cut down the tree and has taken full responsibility for any international fallout over this incident. Tomorrow this tree will be cut down and you’ll be rid of this trouble.’
‘Do you hear? Your file is complete today’, the superintendent said, putting a hand on the poet’s arm.
But the poet’s arm was cold. His eyelids were lifeless, and a long line of ants was going into his mouth. The file of his life had also been completed.
Translated from the Urdu by Raza Naeem. Naeem is a Pakistani social scientist, book critic and award-winning translator and dramatic reader currently based in Lahore, where he is also the president of the Progressive Writers’ Association. He can be reached at razanaeem@hotmail.com.