A Divided House

“Another attempt to infiltrate the border in Jammu & Kashmir by terrorists foiled by armed forces. Both the terrorists have been shot dead. Two civilians and one army jawan have lost their lives”

 

My colleague was reading the headlines from the local newspaper.

 

It was a cold early December morning. My two colleagues and I had just boarded the local train. We were bank employees posted in a district town, about 100 km from Calcutta.

 

The train journey normally takes a little less than three hours. We spent the time discussing a variety of topics from politics to economics to sports.

 

“This is the second attempt of infiltration made this week. Already, due to cross border terrorism, there have been dozens of civilian causalities this year, besides the death of many army men.” My friend continued to read aloud from the newspaper.

 

“This is really sad. The Kashmir issue has been the bone of contention for so many decades, but there is no solution in sight. This is stunting the economic development of this region and we continue to remain backward. If not for this issue we could have become a superpower long ago. ”, My other colleague quipped.

 

I said, “Oh! How I wish that by some stroke of magic the Kashmir problem would be resolved overnight. Then peace will prevail in the region.”

 

The colleague who was reading the newspaper, folded it and said, “So, both of you think that this is the only contentious issue and solving it will end all acrimony between the two countries?”

 

“Why, don’t you think so?”, we asked in unison.

 

“The Kashmir issue is only the symptom. I think that the actual disease is the mistrust that has crept into the minds of people of both countries. The real solution lies in clearing the air of mistrust. Then the problem will disappear by itself. Otherwise, finding a solution to one problem, without establishing trust, will only lead to the creation or escalation of another problem.”

 

He continued, “Another thing is that this problem is between two neighbouring countries. A third party cannot provide a solution. Further, it is also a fact that many others, with an ax to grind, are ready to sow the seeds of mistrust between us.”

 

Seeing the serious look on our faces, our friend said, “Of course, I have not said anything that you are not already aware of. But let me share the story of two brothers in my village. Then you will know what I am trying to say”

 

Our friend is well-read and has also traveled a lot. He always has some interesting anecdotes up his sleeve that he has shared with us on several occasions in the past.

 

We looked at him eagerly as he went on to narrate the story.

 

“Purshottam Das was born in a village in a remote part of West Bengal. The village belonged to the district that was considered the grain basket of the State. Das belonged to a poor family of agricultural laborers. From an early age, he was made to work in the fields to pay off his family’s debts. However, Das had dreams of a better future. Though he was married and had a son, he left home one day and went to the city in search of a better life. He was only 25 years old then.

 

Reaching the city, he had to struggle for some time to get even one square meal a day. He did a lot of odd jobs, one of which was in an auto garage. Through hard work and integrity, within a year, he became very close to the owner, who took him under his wing and taught him everything there was to learn about the trade.

 

After a couple of years, suddenly, one day the owner suffered a severe stroke. He called Das to his bed and told him that he felt that his days were numbered. He beseeched Das to promise him that he would marry his only daughter. He also gave him the ownership of the garage. Within a few days of the wedding, the owner passed away.

 

Das kept quiet about his first marriage. In the next five years, his business flourished. He had a son from his second marriage too.

 

But by this time Das had got tired of city life and his mind longed for his village. He sold off his business for a tidy sum and returned to his village.

 

With his ample savings, he bought a huge tract of land and built a large farmhouse in the village. He settled at the farmhouse comfortably with his two wives and two sons.”

 

Here, I commented, saying, “I thought this was a story of two brothers. But till now I have heard only about one Purushottam Das”

 

My story-teller friend had the habit of taking his time in recounting a tale, but I have always been an impatient person.

 

My other friend glared at me. But the raconteur continued, oblivious to the interruption. “For the next 3 decades or so, Das lived in the farmhouse peacefully. Everybody wondered how he managed to keep peace in that household with two wives living under the same roof and his two sons as well. Mahender, from the first marriage was the elder while Rajender was the younger. The stepbrothers were very close to each other. Rajender worshipped his elder brother. There go our Ram & Lakshman, the villagers used to say.

 

When he was about 60, Das suffered a massive stroke that made him bed-ridden. And for the first time, Das was worried about the future. Some busybody sowed a seed of suspicion in his mind that Mahender, after his death, might not hesitate to throw out his stepmother and brother.

 

So he drew a will apportioning his entire land equally between his sons. The stream passing through the property formed a natural boundary. He gave money to Rajender to build another farmhouse on the land apportioned to him. Shortly afterward Das passed away.

 

The brothers now lived in separate houses. But the families remained very close. They met regularly and celebrated festivals together in one of the two houses.

 

Mahender was now the village headman. Rajender was greatly happy to serve him as his deputy.

 

Slowly some of Mahender’s circle started poisoning his mind. ’You are the rightful owner of the entire property. Your brother is an illegitimate issue and has no right’, they went on like a broken record.

 

But the property was not hereditary but earned by Das during his lifetime. So Mahender could not do anything legally. But the warmth towards his brother slowly faded.

 

Meanwhile, Rajender’s friends told him, “Your brother forced your father and got the best of the agricultural land. You got the inferior portion.’

 

With the passage of time, the relationship between the brothers became cold. The family visits also did not happen. Though the animosity did not turn violent, it remained subdued.

 

Then in the heavy unseasonal showers of 2008, the stream, flowing between the brothers’ land, swelled and overflowed, submerging the greater part of the land on both banks. This heavily damaged the standing crops. Both the brothers suffered huge cash losses.

 

After some days the water receded, leaving behind a strange sight. The receding flood had left a big tract of dry, fertile land in the middle of the channel.”

 

I started to show off my knowledge about the difference between accretion & avulsion and the legal implications when the raconteur said, “Please let me continue.”

 

I shut my mouth and he continued, “Both the brothers rushed to stake their claim on that land. The fight turned ugly and neither of them hesitated to hire thugs to throw the other out of the land created from avulsion.

 

As the fight became violent, resulting in bloodshed, the village elders stepped in and decided that the land should be shared equally for the time being.

 

The brothers reluctantly agreed and a fence was erected on the land. They kept hired thugs to secure their area. Now & then skirmishes happened resulting in the burning of crops, poisoning of water irrigation channels, and other such petty damages.

 

The villagers had no clue as to how to resolve the issue. Reasonable advice, that the land in question formed by avulsion was only a fraction of their total landholdings, fell on deaf ears. Their acrimony was disturbing the development plans of the village too, as the brothers, though important members of the village panchayat , were not ready to sit together during village meetings.

 

The brothers took their case to the courts. The law took its own time and the long-drawn process slowly started eating away at their financial resources. But they still battled on stubbornly,, even though they had to sell some parcels of land to maintain their case before the judiciary.

 

Then in 2014, huge pre-monsoon rains flooded the main river causing a swelling of the stream. It left the entire village inundated for several weeks. But when the waters receded, the brothers were in for a surprise. The land from avulsion had completely disappeared.

 

The villagers were relieved that finally, where a man had failed, nature had provided a solution and the warring brothers should now come to their senses. 

 

But the seeds of mistrust had firmly taken root in the brothers. The rancor between them continued and appeared on other issues like fishing rights on the stream, establishing irrigation channels, and so on.”

 

The storyteller finished his story with a sigh and said, “The only hope now left is that the next generation will see the light and come to terms. Now, you tell me whether I was right about the issues between the two countries.”

 

My other colleague and I had nothing to say and so kept mum.