Seth shouts at
Collector
In 1986, two years before thekedars were
ousted from tendu patta trade in Madhya Pradesh; about fifteen workers from a
collection centre in Dharamjaigarh, a sub-division in Raigarh district, then in
Madhya Pradesh, met the Collector and appealed to him to get their wages paid.
They were skilled
workers from Gondia hired every season by the thekedar for buying good quality
patta from the gatherers, drying, curing, and bagging of the leaf-bundles, and delivering
the bags to the forest godown for joint custody till the stuff was sold by the
trader after paying royalty to the department. The thekedar had paid only a
small advance to the workers, a token weekly payment for ration, and after the bags
were transported, had refused to pay the balance due.
Collector
spoke to the DFO: ‘Are you aware of this issue?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘What have
you done to get them paid?’
‘Nothing can
be done, Sir.’
‘Why so?’
‘It is a little
complicated, Sir. Theka has been awarded by auction to the highest bidder. Government
has fixed the rate for payment to the patta pluckers, and the forest department
has ensured such payment by the thekedar. There is no complaint against him.
However,
thekedar engages skilled workers and supervisors at orally agreed upon rates for
preparing the patta for bagging and transport. Forest department has no
jurisdiction in the matter.
Following
their complaint, the statement of the workers has been recorded. The pending
wages, they claim, are about 8000 rupees.’
‘Who is the
thekedar?’
‘Kharsia ke Seth.
But the theka is in the name of a mazdoor.’’
‘How so?’
‘All thekas
are in fictitious names. The real traders operate behind the scene, provide the
finance, and pocket the profit. That is how tendu patta trade operates in the
entire State.’
Collector had
joined only two months ago, and had little knowledge of the tendu patta trade.
He had no idea who the Seth was.
‘Have you
spoken to him?’
‘I tried,
but he did not take my call.’
‘Aren’t the
bags in the forest department’s godown, can you not impound it till the wages
are paid?’
‘Thekedar
has paid the required royalty to the forest department, and sold the patta to a
beedi company which has already lifted the entire stock from the godown.
‘How about
the licensee’s bank account? You could request the bank to freeze the amount
till the pending wages are paid.’
‘We have
checked. The balance in the account is five hundred rupees only.’
‘Can you
send your SDO to the thekedar and call him for a meeting tomorrow at 11.00 AM
at my office?’
‘I’ll, Sir.’
Later in the
day, the DFO informed the Collector, ‘Sir, he refused to come. I’ve nothing to
do with that theka, he said.’
The young Collector
was angry and called Kharsia police station. Head Constable picked up the
phone:
Shriman, Kharsia
thane se Pradhan Aarakshak Mathura Prasad Pandey bol raha hun. Thanedar Sa’ab
dehat gast par hain. Hukum kiziye.
‘Please go
to the thekedar’s place right now, tell him to meet me tomorrow at my office at
11.00 AM and make sure to bring him along with you. Tell this to Thanedar, too,
when he returns.’
Next day, at
11.00 AM a short, rotund, bald man in his early sixties wearing a spotless
white kurta paired with a dhoti, and followed by eight or ten of his chamchas barged
into the Collector’s office and shouted at the officer: Maine bahut Collector
dekhe hain; aapki himmat kaise hui sipahi bhej kar mujhe bulane ki? Kya samajh rakha
hai apne aap ko?
The livid visitor
was in no doubt whatsoever about his wealth, status, and clout.
Coll: Aapko
van vibhag ne baithak ke liye bulaya tha, aapne inkaar kiya, toh thane se
khabar bhijbaya.
Seth: Kahiye,
kis liye bulaya.
Coll: Aap
mazdooron ka vakaya bhugtaan kar diziye.
Seth: Kis
teez ka bhugtaan? Woh theka mera hai hi nahin. Maine zile mein kahin bhi patta
theka nahin liya hai. DFO se puch liziye.
Coll: Naam
kisi aur ka hai, par theka to aapka hi hai. Mazdooron ne apne vayaan mein yehi
vataaya hai.
Seth: Vayaan
se kya hota hai? Theka mera nahin hain. Aapko jo karna hai kar liziye. Kya
mujhe giraftaar karenge? Kariye giraftaar.
Coll: Jaroot
hone par wah bhi karoonga. Abhi toh vakaya bhugtaan ka mamla hai.
This was the
young officer’s first posting as Collector, and he had naive over-confidence in his power and ability to solve just any problem right away. He had assumed that
summoned by him, the contrite petty patta thekedar would come trembling into
his chamber, and settle the pending wages then and there. Problem Solved.
Collector ki Jai Ho!
In his
eagerness to act fast, he had not checked the antecedents of the Seth before
summoning him through a police constable, an insufferable insult for the richest
man of that little town. He had also put his foot in the mouth by threatening
arrest. Why make a threat which he could not execute? The Seth could not be compelled to pay wages for
a theka in which his name figured nowhere.
By this
time, a little crowd had assembled outside the Collector’s chamber. The Seth, a
loud-mouth who could be easily heard from a distance, wanted his angry outburst
against the top officer of the district to be heard by one and all including
the local press-reporters always hanging about in the Collectorate, to remove
any doubt about who the top dog in the zila was.
Later, the
Collector learned that the Seth was the richest man in Kharsia, and the State
Vice-President of a major political party, and that most district officials
were in awe of this irascible and abusive neta-cum-moneybag-cum-thekedar, even
though his party was not in power.
Collector
bristled with impotent anger. The unpaid workers were on a hartal, having set
up a little shamiana not far from the Collector’s residence, and in front of
the only local daily which everyday carried on front-page an update about the
unpaid wages and rubbed salt, as it were, to the wound. Every day, as the Collector
went to office and returned, he remembered the ugly altercation in his office
chamber, and his failure to get the workers paid their pending wages. They
raised no slogans, but sat in stoic silence with a few placards ‘vakaya
mazdoori ka bhugtaan karo’, ‘garibon ke saath nyaya ho’.
Several days
passed before the morning paper reported a minor accident in the only cinema hall
in Kharsia. While a show was under progress the previous evening, a small chunk
of concrete had fallen from the ceiling of the building. Luckily, it had fallen
a few feet from the front row, no one had been hurt, but a little stampede had
occurred, the show had been disrupted for a while, and had resumed after the police
had arrived and the manager had assured that it was a freak occurrence and that
there was no danger.
Collector
spoke to the DEO (District Excise Officer): What happened at Kharsia yesterday?
DEO: Nothing
serious, Sir, a minor incident. I will bring the report in the forenoon.
Collector perused
the report, and asked: Who is the licensee?
DEO mentioned
the name. It rang no bell.
Coll: Who
owns this cinema hall?
DEO: Nagar
Seth, Sir. License is in his son’s name.
On ground of
risk to life of movie-goers, Collector suspended the cinema licence for a
period of one month, directed the licensee to undertake necessary repairs, and
the EE, PWD to inspect the building and submit a Fitness Certificate on
structural safety after which revocation of the suspended license would be
considered.
DEO had
recommended for the issuance of a show cause notice to the licensee and was
surprised at the Collector’s order of suspension which he thought was harsh in view
of the ‘minor incident’, but he kept his counsel to himself.
Licensee undertook
the repairs and requested the EE to inspect the building and provide a Fitness
Certificate. However, in the meantime, Collector had given the EE, PWD a long
list of roads and bridges in need of urgent repair as represented in writing by
the MLAs and MPs; and had directed him to submit his inspection report in
fifteen days without fail. So, the EE could not find time to inspect the cinema
building for two weeks or more.
Collector was
surprised and a little amused when a senior local leader of the ruling party
(and also a business man) dropped in for a ‘personal’ request:
Sir, it is
festival season now and the cinema hall is losing a few thousand rupees every day.
He has received adequate punishment for his misdemeanour. Please revoke the
suspended license!
‘Sure, I’ll consider
the matter as soon as I receive the Fitness Certificate,’ assured the
Collector.
DFO rang up the
Collector the next morning: Sir, the wage arrears have been paid in full. The
hartal is over. Before leaving for Gondia, the workers wish to meet and thank
you.
Coll: Who
paid the arrears?
DFO: You
know who, Sir. He had sent his munim with the cash.
The EE’s
Fitness certificate arrived soon thereafter, and the suspension order was withdrawn. But the Seth never met the Collector again, and possibly
never forgave him.
***
