Abu tells us about a wool seller and the woes he had to face, in his short story. An exclusive for Different Truths.

At the gate of a high-rise building in a suburban town a wool seller sold his woolen rolls in sun and shower. He stacked bundles of varied coloured, glossy threads at the extreme left side of the entrance. He sat on a sack like a thief and sold beautiful yarns to his admirers. He also guarded the passage to as his own garden. There was no blockade in the passage. Cars, scooters, cycles passed without a hitch. So the flat owners did not mind his encroachment.

The wool seller, a short, middle aged man of regular features, was a happy man. His assistant was lanky, five years younger than his master, with a sharp nose and a quizzical face. For December and January, this man was hired to cope up with the heavy demand of the customers.

The wool seller, a short, middle aged man of regular features, was a happy man. His assistant was lanky, five years younger than his master, with a sharp nose and a quizzical face. For December and January, this man was hired to cope up with the heavy demand of the customers. In lean season the wool seller alone managed his trade, which he inherited from his father who died a couple of years back.

He was in this trade for more than thirty years. And this gate was his means of bread. People across the district made a beeline before his stall. He was so popular that people lovingly called him ‘Wool Man’. And he shook hands and offered chocolates to them who called him so.

He was extra-cautious about his ways in dealing with customers. No cycles, bikes he would allow before his stall. Naturally there was no blockade.  And the flat owners never felt disturbed by the presence of the Wool Man.

He was extra-cautious about his ways in dealing with customers. No cycles, bikes he would allow before his stall. Naturally there was no blockade.  And the flat owners never felt disturbed by the presence of the Wool Man. Moreover, when a big car stopped before him, he ran for its smooth passage. He would then throw hands, stomp feet, shout shrilly, move people by hands and pleads. The driver had a big smile. Both laughed, shook hands and exchanged greetings. The Wool Man’s eyes glittered, face flushed. He had an air of effectively taming a raging wind.

Happily his days were thus passing.

Meantime a police officer, young, tall, handsome, came to stay at that block on rent. The Wool Man never saw the officer walking. An off-white Scorpio began to wheel before his eyes. The officer was always guarded by two subordinate men in uniform. As the car halted, the two bearers from the back seats jumped like monkeys, briskly opened the door, and their boss stepped down with a grave face. The officer took long strides, and the bodyguards ran behind him with their boss’s shoes, suits, belts, body-sprays, flower bouquets, medals, mementoes, etc. Flat owners also showered praise on their new neighbour.  The aged security men of the block began to salute him on his coming and going. Because of his big car’s swerve and easy pass the flat owners someday waited for minutes in their bikes, scooters, and cars. They never complained. Instead, ears plugged in, they watched you tube and enjoyed.

One day, during his return from office the officer’s Scorpio slowed just before the gate. It was noon. The wool seller had gone to a nearby tap for a bottle of water, and a customer with his wife and children with a cycle stood in the middle of the passage.

One day, during his return from office the officer’s Scorpio slowed just before the gate. It was noon. The wool seller had gone to a nearby tap for a bottle of water, and a customer with his wife and children with a cycle stood in the middle of the passage. They came from an adjacent village and did not know the importance of the passage on whose mouth they halted. Their eyes searched for the seller. And the wool seller breathlessly ran towards his stall. The car was honking without a cease. The boss was vexed, and the driver and the bearers were impatient. The seller frantically pushed his customers with both hands. The customers were taken aback, “The seller is driving us, his customers! Why does he sit to sell the woolen bundles?”  The man muttered. Husband and wife looked at each other. Children cried.  And in a minute they were at a safe distance.

The boss speedily jumped off his car, took the seller by his collar, threw some bundles here and there and warned, “I give you two hours. Find a place and move out of my sight.” His eyes were fiery and forehead was splattered with beads of sweat.

“Sir, Sir,” he pleaded with folded hands, “have mercy on a poor man. I’ve a family. I’ll be ruined Sir. Please forgive me. It’s my mistake. I’ll take care of my things. Give me a chance. I agree to be your slave!” he went on with tearful eyes and choked voice.

“Two hours you have,” firmly shouted the officer.

“Boss is a man of one word. Don’t argue, you’ll be handcuffed,” warned the bearers of his boots and belts.

“But…” The wool seller could not continue. He fumbled for words.

The car moved in.

Everybody was shouting and abusing the wool seller. “Every day he makes nuisance. He must be punished”, angrily shouted a tuk tuk driver.

Because of two or three minute delay traffic came to a halt on the main road. There was a mélange of passengers—passers-by, regulars and strangers, onlookers, shopkeepers, hawkers, milk men, maids, bulls and buffaloes.  Everybody was shouting and abusing the wool seller. “Every day he makes nuisance. He must be punished”, angrily shouted a tuk tuk driver. “Throw away his bundles. He has earned a lot,” cried in rage another shopkeeper from the opposite side of the street.

The wool seller suddenly found himself in a strange land, surrounded with strange faces. He was living in this place for three decades and more. Just opposite of his shack the mahogany tree stood tall spreading branches towards the brilliant sky. It was a lean stalk when he used to come with his father. Then he got married, and his father died. Before his eyes it grew fat, and became a home for birds, squirrels, monkeys, parrots, sparrows. There were then only two or three shops around him. Now, shops shoulder shops. From tomorrow he would miss his garden, birds on his tree, his age old friends…

Photo from the Internet