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.

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