A Log of Wood

by Dr Bishnupriya Hota (Original Odiya: Basanta Kumar Satpathy)

After much deliberation, it was decided that it would be cheaper to buy wooden logs and then get it split. Accordingly, I brought two quintals of wood from Bharat Depot and transported them on a pushcart to my backyard.

The owner of the depot had said, “This piece of log is two years old. It is completely dry and when cut into small pieces it will burn like gunpowder. It’ll cost Rs. 12 per quintal, if you want cheaper, then there is sal wood; a bit raw and with barks, it will produce smoke.”

Being from the forest region, I knew which wood was good. So I preferred the dried one. Though it was a bit expensive, it won’t let the kitchen become sooty and smoky. The log lay unattended for almost one week. The santals (tribals) weren’t available since it was the makara festival. There was no question of their coming out for work and finishing my job before they had their share of rice beer and cock fight. Not even a single piece of wood was left in my house. It was a Sunday. Being a winter morning, the wind was cold. I sat on the verandah with a newspaper in my hand assessing what we had done for the tribals in the last thirty years.

Suddenly Moti, our pet dog barked. Startled, I saw an old woodcutter approaching with an axe on his shoulder. He came to me and asked in his faulty, ungrammatical way, “Need cut wood sir?” meaning whether I wanted the logs of wood to be cut.

I pondered, we have been spending millions to bring them to our level, but they were still stuck in the place where they were twenty years ago, couldn’t even learn the language. No sense of verb and subject.

I mimicked,” Yes, I need to get the wood cut. How much will you charge?”

He examined the log and said, “It about two quintals. In the depot, get Rs. 2 for a quintal. Also give the same.”

“What? Rs. 4? It will be too much. I will give you Rs. 3.50 only. The depot man took Rs. 24, now you will take Rs. 4 – Rs. 28 in all. A gas stove would have been much cheaper. If you so like, do it for three and a half, otherwise leave.”

He softened his voice and said in his own way which meant like this, “How shall we poor survive if you are so heartless babu? You are quite well off and still fighting with us for 50 paisa? God has made you rich. Why do you set your eyes on our share? The depot is closed today, so I came, otherwise… ”

My young and educated son (who hasn’t yet earned a paisa in his life) heard me arguing with the woodcutter and said, “OK, you will take 25 paisa more, now don’t argue.”

I glared at him and said, “Has money become cheaper these days? He would have done it for three and a half if you hadn’t interfered.” Then I instructed the woodcutter to start the work without delay. He took out some tobacco from his waistband, rubbed it with his palms and put it in his mouth. Then he began to cut.

Looking at his face, I doubted his capability. I thought though he had agreed to do this for money, it would take him two days to finish the work.

He laid the log on the ground and delivered the first stroke. The axe entered two inches deep into the wood. It took him great effort to pull it out.

I asked him, “How is the wood? Will it burn well?

He said, ‘The wood is good but you are at a profit and I am in loss. It won’t split easily, rather will bend the axe. This kind of wood was lying there stockpiled in our depot since last two years. Nobody took them, no one will be willing to split it. It will burn well but one who would cut it will develop boils on his palm.”

He struck it again. It struck in the right place. He struck again; a splinter came out like a rocket and fell a little distance away. Impatiently I asked him not to make big pieces, “Our hearth is a bit small, cut it thinner.”

Contemptuously he looked at me and said, “You please keep quiet, see whether I am able to do it or not .So many years have I spent cutting wood and you think I still need instructions!”

Curious I asked, ‘How many years have you been here? Where were you before coming to this place?”

My home is in Mayurbhanj, babu, near Betanati, I came to Remuna during the war. Two of my healthy sons and first wife died there in Mayurbhanj, a place infested by witches. My house, land and everything was grabbed by some businessmen like you.”

“Didn’t the government provide you land? If you don’t have a home then you should apply for it.”

“You please help us in this matter. What will you people do with the land? It is our job to do the farming.”

When I asked about family planning he said, “We aren’t used to having many children like you people, just one or two each couple. Besides, your wives and children don’t work. That is why you depend on others. See you depend on me to cut your wood.”

Then he asked me, ‘Tell me, babu, is there no more of king’s rule after the King of Mayurbhanj, only ministers are there, is it so?

I thought it is no good conversing with this obstinate fool. Rather my work was getting slower. So I decided to watch his way of wood cutting. He dismembered the log just as an experienced critic deconstructs a tough modern poetry. God has endowed him with such divinity that he would find bliss in cutting these giant trees all through his life. He completed half of his task within one and half hours. Last time another man had cut the wood into big sizes. This time I was sitting there to watch so that there wouldn’t be any mistake.

I came to him, took some of the pieces apart and instructed him to make them thinner although they were of the proper size. The man was getting tired gradually. Every time he attempted to strike a log he produced a sound. Curiously I took his axe in my hand. God, it was so heavy. I asked, “What is its weight?”

While sharpening the axe on a huge stone, he said, “I have made it in two kilos of iron and the stick is two and a half kilos.”

“It is already noon. Will you be able to complete it in one day?”

“You are disturbing me by talking too much; you please do your own work. Haven’t you seen that your wood is not so easy to split?”

I saw he had a flat belly. It just slipped out of my tongue, “Have you eaten something in the morning?”

“Does a poor has anything to eat in the morning. I just drank a bowl of rice water. My wife and son have also gone to their work with a bowl of rice water each.”
I went inside the kitchen to taste the roasted mutton. My servant Chaitanya said, “Sir, shall I give him some leftover bread?”

“Give it to the dog. Why do you prepare more than is needed? Do you know two breads cost 25 paisa? Two hours ago, that man was arguing with me for 25 paisa.”

The bread was old, there were cockroaches on it and the dog also didn’t eat it. I came out with a mouthful of roasted spicy meat and asked, “Would you like to eat bread?”

“If it is extra then give me, I will have it.”

Chaitanya brought him the bread and water in the jug used in the lavatory. He chewed the dried bread like a papad, drank the jugful of water and then washed the jug clean with ash. He then rubbed tobacco in his palm, put it in his mouth and began the last phase of his work.

I ordered him, “Listen, I am going to take my lunch, so you put on those split wood in the backyard.” Actually, that was my task. But the woodcutter agreed instantly and said, “I’ll cut and you stockpile …no …no ... that’s not good. You please tie that dog and show me where to stockpile the wood.”

After a luxurious bath, I had a hearty meal, lit a cigarette and went out to see how far had he progressed. But the task was over and the wood was very neatly arranged in its place. Some splinters were scattered on the ground. I took out a basket and a broomstick and told him, “Collect all the splinters in the basket, otherwise my dog will get them in his foot, this is his playground.”

Without any objection he did all he was said and then, stood up with the axe on his shoulder for payment. I gave him two two-rupee notes and said, give me back 25 paisa. He stared at me helplessly and said, “No change, come from home empty handed?”

It wasn’t that I didn’t have change, but who would give away the change of 75 paisa? I said, “Get it changed from the market.”

“But babu, today Sunday, the market is closed. Let it be with me. Next month when I come again, cut from my dues.”

“No, that is not possible, who knows whether you will come or not.”

Suddenly he glared at me; his eyes were reddened as if had drunk rice beer. He exploded, “What did you say? Don’t trust me, till now buttered me up to get your work done and now you don’t trust me? You people took everything, my house, my land and now speaking of trust. What do you think? Have paid enough by giving me two pieces of double bread? Aren’t we human beings? I understand well your tricks, take your money.” Saying this he threw the money in my face and went past the gatepost towards the road.

Seeing his strong reaction, I realized I had made a great mistake by expressing my mistrust. If he realized that I had no feelings for him, that it was all pretension to get my work done, then he might turn about and split my head like a log of wood with his axe. The thought of such horrible consequences terrorized me. Instantly I sent Chaitanya with two two-rupee notes to give to him and closed the door behind him. I was sweating.

Basanta Kumar Satpathy is a noted Odiya short story writer (1913-1994). He was born in a remote village of Mayurbhanj district of Odisha (Orissa). After a long career of teaching English in various colleges, he retired as the Head of the Department of English, Fakir Mohan college. He has written a number short stories, all of which exhibit his unique features of writing. At once hilarious and witty. He was immensely influenced by Fakir Mohan Senapati. His sympathies are with the marginalised and the oppressed. He was awarded for his works by Odisha Sahitya Akademi in theYear 1978.

Dr. Bishnupriya Hota works as a Reader in English at G.M.College (Autonomous), Sambalpur, Odisha.

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