Our Favourite Indian Stories by Khushwant Singh

Author:Khushwant Singh
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 8172249780
Publisher: Jaico Publishing House
Published: 2012-08-08T16:00:00+00:00

The Claim

Narain Bharati

'Brother, who gives claim here?' Joharmal asked of those standing in the veranda of the Camp No. 2 office.

'Uncle, no one gives claim; the claim is to be put in.' Smiling at the innocence of Joharmal, one of the men remarked.

'Uncle, come here.' Beckoning him, one of the persons sitting with the typist said, 'I am also putting in the claim. This officer is typing it out.'

'Brother, we don't even know how a claim is to be put in. My son studies in an English school. But here the officers have their own requirements. Later on they will say that this is not done, that is not done. That is why I said, when there are so many other expenses, writing charges of a rupee or two by this officer will not make us poorer.'

'Come and sit here,' one of the persons beckoned to Joharmal.

'Oh! God.' Sitting on the bench Joharmal said, 'Yesterday Manikamal was saying that the government will give compensation for the property left behind, that is why government is getting it in writing to assess how much is left. I thought, since we have forsaken so much property, why not give it in writing?' Taking out a bidi from his pocket Joharmal said. 'Brother! Do you think the government will count money and give cash? These are all only estimates; but every one is in a fix. If we don't give in writing and then by good luck, if the money is paid, then everyone will taunt and curse us. So let us remove this anxiety, then whatever is destined will happen. Even if we don't get anything we shall not be worse off than what we are now,' said one of the older men.

The typist continued typing and simultaneously kept on murmuring. 'The public road in the West, Khanmohomad's building towards East, the caravansarai of Seth Phagunmal. In the North — the area three thousand sq. feet, two storyed —Then he turned his eyes at the people sitting there. One by one, he typed the claim forms of all. Then, turning to Joharmal he asked, 'Yes Sir! Now you tell me.'

'Brother, whatever you ask me I shall answer. We have left our world, our honour, our friendships; everything of ours is left there. When will God have mercy on us that we shall again inhabit our homes?'

'Yes, uncle, what is your name?'

'Name? Sir, my name is Joharmal.'

The typist, making a sound of tick.... tick on the typewriter repeated, 'Joharmal...Yes, uncle....Joharmal....son of?'

'Joharmal son of Bhai Wasiomal.' The typist again began typing and asked, 'What is your surname?'

'Nangdev.'

The typist typed it. 'Okay. Where did you stay in Pakistan? Which taluka and district?'

'All right. Village Halla, Taluka Kamber, District Larkana.' The typist kept on typing. 'Have you brought the details of your property?'

'What details?'

'Details, such as, how many acres of land, how many houses and their location, total area and the estimated value? Whether the land was leasehold or outright purchase? If it was purchased, for how

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