Sin (standard:romance, 3071 words)
Author: Shamoil Ahmad	Added: Mar 23 2012	Views/Reads: 2912/1928	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
He was stunned…. Earth under his feet seemed to have caved in…. Defalcation of rupees two and half a lakh…?

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were not for the vicissitudes of destiny, why else should he have 
signed on the cash roll...? The middle-aged man lying on the grass 
shifted his stance with a groan, folded his right hand and put it under 
his head like a pillow and closed his eyes. He looked attentively at 
him. His face showed signs of deep thoughts of concern. Unshaven beard 
had grown unevenly, unkempt hair was dry and the collar of shirt was 
bent inwards. It appeared to him that the man lying half-dead was none 
but he, trapped in the systemic cobweb of office work. Helpless and 
lonely, he felt like going over to him and put his head on his 
shoulder. He felt his eyes had moistened. He took a deep breath and 
lied down on the grass. It was getting late in the evening. Stars one 
after the other began to twinkle in the sky. The park was now lit up 
with the dazzle of light and flies were swarming around lamp posts 
while the revellers were by and by leaving the park. He heaved a deep 
sigh and remained lying there. So much so, the noise of traffic too had 
subsided a great deal. When everybody had left, the half-dead man too 
rose. He was totally unaware and oblivious of straws sticking on his 
person. He did not brush his dress and moved out of the park with heavy 
steps. Suddenly, the park became completely desolate. He got a little 
worried and remembered his home. He rose and with tired steps began to 
walk towards home. Wife was waiting. She started shouting the moment 
she saw him. Then finding him silent, she got worried. He could barely 
tell her that he got delayed in the office. But wife was not satisfied. 
That was not his way. Home was unfailingly his first destination from 
office. It was for the first time that he made this exception to his 
own rule. The signs of consternation were clearly visible on his face. 
Lest these signs on his face were seen by his wife, he quickly washed 
hands and feet, sprinkled water on his face and came to the dining 
table, still wiping water off his face with towel. Wife again queried 
as to what was the matter with him that he was so silent. He replied in 
the same manner: there was heavy work load in the office and that tired 
him out. He was not able to understand as to how he should tell her 
what the matter was. Somehow he gulped a few spoonfuls and spread out 
on the bed. Munna was sleeping on one side of the bed. He was fast 
asleep already. His fists were unfurled and tiny smiles were flickering 
on his lips. He ran his hand on Munna's forehead. His eyes moistened. 
He buried his face in the pillow and lied down. He recalled the words 
of the accountant—the cash has to be deposited. He was ensnared in the 
systemic cobweb of written words of law devised by man to govern his 
society...he had not defalcated the money and yet he was forced to 
countenance the retribution. Where was he going to get that money from? 
Who was going to help him? Will they be able to trace that cashier out? 
These are mere assurances. Why will anyone take so much pains for him? 
And why will the cashier accept his guilt? He did not swindle the money 
in order to prove his complicity in the crime. It was he who had to 
take this punishment. There was no escape for him. His document was 
held on record. Signature? Just a few alphabets and one falsehood got 
transformed into truth. Perhaps, truth and falsehood are two sides of 
the same coin. Falsehood too has its elements of truth. Falsehood has 
its own identity. Falsehood shines in the light of truth. The truth is 
his signature on the cash roll that proves the guilt of Mohammad 
Sharief. The truth of his signature will not let the accused Mohammad 
Sharief die. A poisonous smile blossomed on his lips. What if he signed 
a dying declaration that said his wife was responsible for his death! 
The poor loyal wife! She will at once be declared a killer. She will 
pine away to death, perennially wondering as to which of her acts led 
to her husband's death. Children too will take her for the killer of 
their father. For her whole life she would not be able to prove her 
innocence. Just a few alphabets...and she will be ensnared. Sharer of 
an uncommitted sin! Man is free in the realm of nature, but is 
entrapped in his own system. Just a simple signature! Isn't it your 
signature? He felt like crying out loudly, yes it's my signature. Cent 
per cent my own. I am a captive of the truth of my signature, and its 
clasps are more painful than the clasps of death. Wife came over and 
stood by the side. He felt a pang of pain in his heart. Will she 
suspect him? His better-half who is with him for over ten years! He 
pressed the pillow hard against his chest and lied down facing away 
from her. She can suspect. The honesty of a man of small means can 
always come within the purview of suspicion. What after all is his 
standing or stature? A mere clerk in a private firm may spurn rupees 
two and a half... may even spurn rupees two hundred and a half...but 
was it possible for him to spurn rupees two lakh and a half...? He 
glanced at his wife. Her hair was untied and she looked fresh and 
lively. Perhaps she had taken a bath in the evening. After bath she 
invariably left her hair untied. It was long and used to swing around 
her waist. She took her hands behind, twisted and tied her hair into 
knots...let her breasts protrude forward and she straightened up her 
neck that had not yet developed wrinkles. After arranging her locks on 
her head, she bent to pick Munna up; in the process apron part of her 
sari slipped down and her ear rings sounded like clinking bells. She 
pulled Munna by his arm and made him sleep on one side of the bed. She 
created space for herself in the middle by arranging pillow and slipped 
in by his side. He could not help thinking that it was not for nothing 
that she so painstakingly made this arrangement. She did this quite 
often. Then he too used to turn towards her and read the message of 
physical yearning and hunger. Else on normal occasions Munna always 
slept in the middle between them while she slept on the other side of 
the bed. Wife activated her hand and he felt the touch of her fingers 
around his waist. He remembered his wife was four months pregnant. She 
moved a little closer. So close that he could feel the warmth of her 
breath. He felt a pang in his heart. He sat up. ‘What's the matter?' 
Wife lifted her head from the pillow. He was silent. ‘Are you all 
right?' ‘Get me some water to drink.' She rose and switched on the 
light of the room. The signs of exasperation were clearly visible on 
her face. Her locks had unfurled and had become dishevelled. Her sari 
too had got disorganized which exposed her belly. When she moved into 
the kitchen to bring water for him, he saw her applying some pressure 
on her hips while walking. With sari not properly fastened, a small 
part of the pink cord running through the stitched hollow strip of her 
petticoat manifested itself. He took a deep breath and lied flat. He 
thought it was proper that he should tell her everything. That will 
take the burden off his chest. But she will get frightened. Besides, 
she will not be able to do anything. What can even he do! Even he 
cannot do anything. Wife can at least seek the blessings of god. She 
will at once start offering prayers. She will throw herself before 
Allah and cry her heart out to seek deliverance. She will be hopeful of 
some miracle happening. Allah will listen. The almighty is full of 
compassion, absolutely helpful and commiserative. He knows every 
secret. Her mind is full of faith. The rays of hope will, therefore, 
not desert her till she breathed her last. Even if he were to go to 
jail she will think it was ordained by god. To survive it is necessary 
for mankind to nurture the illusion of faith. But his own conviction in 
faith has always remained suspect. The seeds of faith never fructified 
in him. He could not even seek benediction from Allah. He could not 
have hoped for any miracle. He could not have derived any solace from 
this knowledge that Allah was watching everything. He will do justice. 
He is on the path of truth. Truth will always prevail. There was no ray 
of hope with him. He was amazed that he was not in the company of any 
god. Who could he ask for benediction from? Where was god? Was it 
available in the heavenly books or was it present in human hearts? Was 
it closer than veins too! God in whose godliness even nihilism acquired 
fullness! God who has inscribed it on each living being that he has to 
suffer retribution for uncommitted sins!  But to him it was not 
acceptable—not acceptable that he should be penalised for an 
uncommitted sin. Why should he accept punishment for a crime he did not 
commit? Deposit the money, or else...! Or else, what? I'll be hanged to 
death, isn't it? Who is free here? It is not possible to escape from 
the systemic cobweb of rules we created for ourselves and the falsehood 
that this system creates is as imperishable as god himself....signature 
is yours, isn't it?  Without doubt, my lord! The signature is mine. I 
am present in the cash roll the same way as god is present in the 
heavenly books. My signature on the cash roll has given birth to what 
is not born. I will remain there forever. When wife brought him a 
tumbler full of water, he drank it in one go. Wife asked him if he 
needed more to which he responded in negative by nodding his head and 
lied down on the other side. She switched off the light and lied down. 
He began to feel the presence of her fingers around his waist. She 
moved closer still and buried her face into his bosom. On any other 
occasion, he would have relished the moment and would have enveloped 
her well within him arms. But on this occasion he only wanted to remain 
motionless like a corpse so that no one disturbed him. Suddenly Munna 
began to cry. She turned and lifted Munna out of the bed and made him 
stand on the floor. Despite her quick reaction, a few drops of urine 
fell on the bed. After letting him complete his act of urinating on the 
floor, she put him back on the bed and kept patting him to induce 
sleep. It suddenly occurred to him that someone was knocking at the 
door. He became alert. He felt as if his colleagues had succeeded in 
ferreting out the cashier. He opened the door. There was no one there. 
For a while he was seized of an insurmountable dread and he ejaculated 
these words: God nonchalantly goes about, but man constantly hinges on 
hopes against hopes. He felt like crying out: shut out all doors. There 
will not be any Second Coming. Man will continue to remain thus trapped 
in his own made  cobweb of rules. But he could not cry out. He felt a 
sudden pain in his chest. He clutched his chest with both of his hands 
and somehow managed to bolt the door and staggered his way to bed. With 
his vacillating hands he tried to grab the shoulder of his wife. Then 
he clung to her bosom. The tender touch of her breast gave him some 
comfort. He placed his face on her face and began to rub her back 
vigorously in an effort to infuse some life in his own moribund body by 
raising the level of physical contact. He tried to feel the hardness in 
that part of her underbelly where a new life was taking shape. But the 
pain in his chest rose suddenly. He felt he was unable to breathe 
freely. At this critical moment when his breath seemed to have been 
failing him, he felt like making a loud appeal: why must I suffer for 
that sin which I have not committed? But the voice remained choked and 
buried in his chest. In his broken voice he could barely call out the 
name of his wife once or twice, ‘Sultana....Sultana!' And his head 
rolled into the cleavage.... 


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