THE AXE

AN astrologer passing through the village foretold that Velan would live in a three-
storied house surrounded by many acres of garden. At this every- body gathered round
young Velan and made fun of him. For Koopal did not have a more ragged and God-
forsaken family than Velan's. His father had mortgaged every bit of property he had,
and worked, with his whole family, on other people's lands in return for a few annas a
week. A three-storied house for Velan indeed ! . . . But the scoffers would have
congratulated the astrologer if they had seen Velan about thirty or forty years later. He
became the sole occupant of" Kumar Baugh " that palatial house on the outskirts of
Malgudi town.
When he was eighteen Velan left home. His father slapped his face one day for coming
late with the midday meal, and he did that in the presence of others in the field. Velan
put down the basket, glared at his father, and left the place. He just walked out of the
village and walked on and on till he came to the town. He starved for a couple of days,
begged wherever he could, and arrived in Malgudi, where after much knocking about
an old man took him on to assist him in laying out a garden.
The garden yet existed only in the mind of the gardener. What they could see now was
acre upon acre of weed-covered land. Velan's main business consisted in destroying
all the vegetation he saw. Day after day he sat in the sun and tore up by hand the
unwanted plants. And all the jungle gradually disappeared and the land stood as bare
as a football field. Three sides of the land were marked off for an extensive garden
and on the rest was to be built a house. By the time the mangoes had sprouted they
were laying the foundation of the house. About the time the margosa sapling had shot
up a couple of yards the walls were also coming up.
The flowers hibiscus, chrysanthemum, jasmine, roses, and cannae in the front park
suddenly created a wonderland one early summer. Velan had to race with the
bricklayers. He was now the chief gardener, the old man he had come to assist having
suddenly fallen ill. Velan was proud of his position and responsibility. He keenly
watched the progress of the bricklayers and whispered to the plants as he watered
them, " Now look sharp, young fellows. The building is going up and up every day. If it
is ready and we aren't we shall be the laughing-stock of the town."
He heaped manure, aired the roots, trimmed the branches, and watered the plants
twice a day, and on the whole gave an impression of hustling Nature ; and Nature
seemed to respond. For he did present a good-sized garden to his master and his
family when they came to occupy the house.
The house proudly held up a dome. Balconies with intricately carved wood-work hung
down from the sides of the house ; smooth, rounded pillars, deep verandas, chequered
marble floors, and spacious halls ranged one behind another, gave the house such an
imposing appearance that Velan asked himself, " Can any mortal live in this? I thought
such mansions existed only in Swarga Loka"
When he saw the kitchen and the dining room he said, " Why, our whole village could
be accommodated in this eating place alone ! " The housebuilder's assistant told him,
" We have built bigger houses, things costing nearly two lakhs. What is this house ? It
has hardly cost your master a lakh of rupees. It is just a little more than an ordinary
house, that is all. . . ."
After returning to his hut Velan sat a long time trying to grasp the vision, scope and
calculations of the builders of the house, but he felt dizzy. He went to the margosa
plant, gripped its stem with his fingers and said, " Is this all, you scraggy one ? What if
you wave your head so high above mine ? I can put my fingers around you and shake
you up like this. Grow up, little one, grow up. Grow fat. Have a trunk which two pairs of
arms can't hug, and go up and spread. Be fit to stand beside this palace ; otherwise I
will pull you out."
When the margosa tree approximately came up to this vision the house had acquired a
mellowness in its appearance. Successive summers and monsoons had robbed the
paint on the doors and windows and woodwork of their brightness and the walls of their
original colour, and had put in their place tints and shades of their own choice. And
though the house had lost its resplendence it had now a more human look. Hundreds
of parrots and mynas and unnamed birds lived in the branches of the margosa, and
under its shade the master's great-grand-children and the (younger) grand-children
played and quarrelled. The master walked about leaning on a staff. The lady of the
house, who had looked such a blooming creature on the inauguration day, was
shrunken and grey and spent most her time in an invalid's chair in the veranda, gazing
at the garden with dull eyes. Velan himself was much changed. Now he had to depend
more and more upon his assistants to keep the garden in shape. He had lost his
parents, his wife, and eight children out of fourteen. He had managed to reclaim his
ancestral property which was now being looked after by his sons-in-law and sons. He
went to the village for Ponged, New Year, and Deepavali, and brought back with him
one or the other of his grand- children of whom he was extremely fond.
Velan was perfectly contented and happy. He demanded nothing more of life. As far as
he could see, the people in the big house too seemed to be equally at peace with life.
One saw no reason why these goods things should not go on and on for ever. But
Death peeped around the corner. From the servant's quarters whispers reached the
gardener in his hut that the master was very ill and lay in his room downstairs (the
bedroom upstairs so laboriously planned had to be abandoned with advancing age).
Doctors and visitors were constantly coming and going, and Velan had to be more than
ever on guard against " flower-pluckers." One midnight he was awakened and told that
the master was dead. " What is to happen to the garden and to me ? The sons are no
good," he thought at once.
And his fears proved to be not entirely groundless. The sons were no good, really.
They stayed for a year more, quarrelled among themselves, and went away to live in
another house. A year later some other family came in as tenants. The moment they
saw Vdan they said, " Old gardener ? Don't be up. to any tricks. We know the sort you
are. We will sack you if you don't behave yourself."
Velan found life intolerable. These people had no regard for a garden. They walked on
flower beds, children climbed the fruit trees and plucked unripe fruits, and they dug pits
on the garden paths. Velan had no courage to protest. They ordered him about, sent
him on errands, made him wash the cow, and lectured to him on how to grow a
garden. He detested the whole business and often thought of throwing up his work and
returning to his village. But the idea was unbearable : he couldn't live away from his
plants. Fortune however, soon favoured him. The tenants left. The house was locked
up for a few years. Occasionally one of the sons of the late owner came round and
inspected the garden. Gradually even this ceased.
They left "the keys of the house with Velan. Occasionally a prospective tenant came
down, had the house opened, and went away after remarking that it was in ruins
plaster was falling off in flakes, paint on doors and windows remained only in a few
small patches, and white ants were eating away all the cupboards and shelves. ... A
year later another tenant came, and then another, and then a third. No one remained
for more than a few months. And the house acquired the reputation of being haunted.
Even the owners dropped the practice of coming and seeing the house. Velan was
very nearly the master of the house now. The keys were with him. He was also
growing old. With the best he could do, grass grew on the paths, weeds and creepers
strangled the flowering plants in the front garden. The fruit trees yielded their load
punctually. The owners leased out the whole of the fruit garden for three years.
Velan was too old. His hut was leaky and he had no energy to put up new thatch. So
he shifted his residence to the front veranda of the house. It was a deep veranda
running on three sides, paved with chequered marble. The old man saw no reason why
he should not live there. He had as good a right as the bats and the rats.
When the mood seized him (about once a year) he opened the house and had the floor
swept and scrubbed. But gradually he gave up this practice. He was too old to bother
about these things.
Years and years passed without any change. It came to be known as the " Ghost
House," and people avoided it. Velan found nothing to grumble in this state of affairs. It
suited him excellently. Once a quarter he sent his son to the old family in the town to
fetch his wages. There was no reason why this should not have gone on indefinitely.
But one day a car sounded its horn angrily at the gate. Velan hobbled up with the keys.
" Have you the keys ? Open the gate," commanded someone in the car.
" There is a small side-gate," said Velan meekly.
" Open the big gate for the car ! "
Velan had to fetch a spade and clear the vegetation which had blocked the entrance.
The gates opened on rusty hinges, creaking and groaning.
They threw open all the doors and windows, went through the house keenly examining
every portion, and remarked : " Did you notice the crack on the dome ? The walls too
are cracked . . . There is no other way. If we pull down the old ramshackle carefully we
may still be able to use some of the materials, though I am not at all certain that the
wooden portions are not hollow inside. . . . Heaven alone knows what madness is
responsible for people building houses like this. . . ."
They went round the garden and said, " We have to clear every bit of this jungle. All
this will have to go. . . ." Some mighty person looked Velan up and down and said, "
You are the gardener I suppose ? We have not much use for a garden now. All the
trees, except half a dozen on the very boundary of the property, will have to go. We
can't afford to waste space. This flower garden . . . H'm it is ... old fashioned and crude,
and apart from it the front portion of the site is too valuable to be wasted. . . ."
A week later one of the sons of his old master came and told Velan, " You will have to
go back to your village, old fellow. The house is sold to a company. They are not going
to have a garden. They are cutting down even the fruit trees : they are offering
compensation to the leaseholder ; they are wiping out the garden, and pulling down
even the building. They are going to build small houses by the score without leaving
space even for a blade of grass. . . ."
There was much bustle and activity, much coming and going, and Velan retired to his
old hut. When he felt tired he lay down and slept ; at other times he went round the
garden and stood gazing at his plants. He was given a fortnight's notice. Every moment
of it seemed to him precious and he would have stayed till the last second with his
plants but for the sound of an axe which stirred him out of his afternoon nap two days
after he was given notice. The dull noise of a blade meeting a tough surface reached
his ears. He got up and rushed out. He saw four men hacking the massive trunk of the
old margosa tree. He let out a scream : " Stop that ! "
He took his staff and rushed at those who were hacking. They easily avoided the blow
he aimed. " What is the matter ? " they asked.
Velan wept : " This is my child. I planted it. I saw it grow. I loved it. Don't cut it down. . ."
" But it is the company's orders. What can we do ? We shall be dismissed if we don't
obey, and someone else will do it. . . ."
Velan stood thinking for a while and said, " Will you at least do me this good turn ?
Give me a little time. I will bundle up my clothes and go away. After I am gone do what
you like." They laid down their axes and waited.
Presently Velan came out of his hut with a bundle on his head. He looked at the tree-
cutters and said, " You are very kind to an old man. You are very kind to wait." He
looked at the margosa and wiped his eyes, " Brother, don't start cutting till I am really
gone far, far away."
The tree-cutters squatted on the ground and watched the old man go. Nearly half an
hour later his voice came from a distance, half indistinctly, " Don't cut yet. I am still
within hearing. Please wait till I am gone farther,"