PAGLA DASHU (Crazy Dashu) — I, By Sukumar Ray

The Deeds of Dashu

In our school, there was hardly anyone who didn’t know Crazy Dashu. Even those who knew nobody was familiar withDashu. One time, a new watchman came to our school; he was totally rustic. No sooner than he heard about Crazy Dashu, had he identified him. That’s because from his looks, speech, and movement you could tell Dashu was a bit off in the head. He had big round eyes, unnecessarily long ears, and a scrub of scruffy hair. Whenever he walked fast or spoke in a busy manner, it reminded one of lobsters for some reason.

Not that he was foolish. When it came to arithmetic, especially complex multiplication and division problems, his brain worked rather well. Again, there were occasions when he reveled in duping us with such well-forged plans, that we were left embarrassed and stunned.

At the time Dashu or Dasharathi joined our school, Jagabandhu was famous as the “best boy” of our class. He was good in studies no doubt, but we hadn’t seen a jealous wet cat like him. One day, Dashu approached Jagabandhu to ask him the meaning of an English word. Jagabandhu snapped at him without any reason, saying, “Do I have nothing better to do? Today I will teach him English, tomorrow I’ll have to help someone else with maths, the next day another one would come to me with a new request. And I’d just go on wasting time on this!” A livid Dashu replied, “Hey, you are such a petty little rascal.” Jagabandhu complained to Pandit Mashai, “That new boy is calling me names.” Pandit Mashai* gave Dashu such a yelling that the poor fellow just went quiet.

Bishtubabu taught us English. Jagabandhu was his favourite student. While lecturing, whenever he needed to refer to the textbook, Bishtubabu would get it from Jagabandhu. One day, while teaching us grammar, he asked Jagabandhu for the book. Our friend immediately handed him the green-cover-wrapped grammar tome. As he opened the book, Master Mashai^ asked grimly, “Whose book is this?” Broadening his chest in pride Jagabandhu said, “Mine.” Master Mashai said, “Hmm, is this a new edition? The entire book has changed, I see.” With that, he started reading, “Hair-raising detective tales of Inspector Jashobant.”

Unable to understand whatever was happening, Jagabandhu just froze, flabbergasted. Master Mashai rolled his eyes devilishly and said, “So you are learning such higher things, haan?” Jagabandhu tried to mutter something, but Master Mashai cut him short and said, “Just shut up now. No need to act nice and good. Enough of that!” Jagabandhu’s ears went red with shame and insult, and we sure were delighted to see that. Later of course, we learned that this was the handiwork of brother Dashu, who had replaced another green-cover book with Jagabandhu’s grammar book.

We always poked fun at Dashu, often ridiculing his intelligence and looks, right in front of him. I don’t recall him getting upset about it even once. A lot of times, he would colour our comments and make up funny stories about himself. One day he said, “In our neighbourhood, whenever someone makes dry mango candy, I am in big demand. Can you guess why?” “Why?” We asked, “Do you relish mango candy?” He said, “Oh no, that’s not the reason. You see, when they spread the candy for drying on the terraces, I go there and show my face a couple of times. That’s enough to drive all the crows away from the area. So no one needs to guard the mango candy while it dries.”

* Pandit Mashai = Respectable term for teacher.
^ Master Mashai = Respectable term for teacher.

Enjoyed? Read Part II here.

Translated by: Bhaswati Ghosh

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Old Story, New Contest

Old story:

Back in June, I took part in the Midnight Road short fiction contest, hosted by Jason. Part of the contest is the learning that comes with it. So here’s my entry, in a modified version. I incorporated some of the suggestions Jason gave me in his feedback. Do let me know how you like it. Thanks, Jason.

The Eyewitness

“You know, you should just quit it.” Her words stiffened his limbs every evening, as he lumbered his way back home. They had arrived in the neighborhood just last month, and while everything else seemed okay, the dark stretch vexed her as much as it paralyzed him.

If only he had the luxury of not pursuing the part-time MBA classes after work every evening.

Difficult to admit though it was, he hated the fact that it was the only route back home from college. It was a weird road; he didn’t doubt that. No matter how many times the municipality fixed the street light, it would stop functioning.

It’s always midnight here.

“Silly girl, always thinking the worst. I am not the only one who walks on that road,” he would tell her.

Faking reassurance. Easy. Plodding through that dark track every evening. Creepy. In the back of his mind, snapshots lurked—of pickpockets ruffling his trousers’ back pocket…

A .410 handgun did it in the end. It was Diwali eve, and he bought her favorite sweets. As he wound his way through the dark road, humming a song, three gun shots twisted his gait into a red rivulet. Unarmed civilians were the best targets to drive home the demand for a separate state.

His cell phone, lying unclaimed with his corpse, beeped twice. There was just one eyewitness—a live, mute electric pole.

It was midnight when the police contacted her to identify the body.

[The End]

New Contest: Lonely Moon Short Fiction Contest


If the story left you a bit glum, here’s something to cheer you up. Our gracious host, Jason Evans, is hosting yet another short fiction contest. Using the picture you see, write a story of 250 words or less. The deadline is August 29, 11 pm, EST. The details are here. Jason’s contests keep getting better each time. This time, it takes a big leap with bestselling author, Anne Frasier, joining the event. Anne’s new book, Pale Immortal, is going to be launched on September 5. And no less exciting is the fact that the winners of the Lonely Moon contest will get autographed copies of Pale Immortal as prizes.

What are we waiting for then? Let’s get busy, writing!

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