Isabel Wilkerson’s ‘Caste’ Is an ‘Instant American Classic’ About Our Abiding Sin

 Isabel Wilkerson’s ‘Caste’ Is an ‘Instant American Classic’ About Our Abiding Sin

By Dwight Garner

Published July 31, 2020

Updated Aug. 3, 2020

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A critic shouldn’t often deal in superlatives. He or she is here to explicate, to expand context and to make fine distinctions. But sometimes a reviewer will shout as if into a mountaintop megaphone. I recently came upon William Kennedy’s review of “One Hundred Years of Solitude,” which he called “the first piece of literature since the Book of Genesis that should be required reading for the entire human race.” Kennedy wasn’t far off.

I had these thoughts while reading Isabel Wilkerson’s new book, “Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents.” It’s an extraordinary document, one that strikes me as an instant American classic and almost certainly the keynote nonfiction book of the American century thus far. It made the back of my neck prickle from its first pages, and that feeling never went away.

I told more than one person, as I moved through my days this past week, that I was reading one of the most powerful nonfiction books I’d ever encountered.

Wilkerson’s book is about how brutal misperceptions about race have disfigured the American experiment. This is a topic that major historians and novelists have examined from many angles, with care, anger, deep feeling and sometimes simmering wit.

Wilkerson’s book is a work of synthesis. She borrows from all that has come before, and her book stands on many shoulders. “Caste” lands so firmly because the historian, the sociologist and the reporter are not at war with the essayist and the critic inside her. This book has the reverberating and patriotic slap of the best American prose writing.

[ This book is one of our most anticipated titles of August. See the full list. ]

This is a complicated book that does a simple thing. Wilkerson, who won a Pulitzer Prize for national reporting while at The New York Times and whose previous book, “The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America’s Great Migration,” won the National Book Critics Circle Award, avoids words like “white” and “race” and “racism” in favor of terms like “dominant caste,” “favored caste,” “upper caste” and “lower caste.”

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Some will quibble with her conflation of race and caste. (Social class is a separate matter, which Wilkerson addresses only rarely.) She does not argue that the words are synonyms. She argues that they “can and do coexist in the same culture and serve to reinforce each other. Race, in the United States, is the visible agent of the unseen force of caste. Caste is the bones, race the skin.” The reader does not have to follow her all the way on this point to find her book a fascinating thought experiment. She persuasively pushes the two notions together while addressing the internal wounds that, in America, have failed to clot.

A caste system, she writes, is “an artificial construction, a fixed and embedded ranking of human value that sets the presumed supremacy of one group against the presumed inferiority of other groups on the basis of ancestry and often immutable traits, traits that would be neutral in the abstract but are ascribed life-and-death meaning.”

“As we go about our daily lives, caste is the wordless usher in a darkened theater, flashlight cast down in the aisles, guiding us to our assigned seats for a performance,” Wilkerson writes. She observes that caste “is about respect, authority and assumptions of competence — who is accorded these and who is not.”

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Isabel Wilkerson, whose new book is “Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents.”

Isabel Wilkerson, whose new book is “Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents.”

Credit...Joe Henson

Wilkerson’s usages neatly lift the mind out of old ruts. They enable her to make unsettling comparisons between India’s treatment of its untouchables, or Dalits, Nazi Germany’s treatment of Jews and America’s treatment of African-Americans. Each country “relied on stigmatizing those deemed inferior to justify the dehumanization necessary to keep the lowest-ranked people at the bottom and to rationalize the protocols of enforcement.”

Wilkerson does not shy from the brutality that has gone hand in hand with this kind of dehumanization. As if pulling from a deep reservoir, she always has a prime example at hand. It takes resolve and a strong stomach to stare at the particulars, rather than the generalities, of lives under slavery and Jim Crow and recent American experience. To feel the heat of the furnace of individual experience. It’s the kind of resolve Americans will require more of.

“Caste” gets off to an uncertain start. Its first pages summon, in dystopian-novel fashion, the results of the 2016 election alongside anthrax trapped in the permafrost being released into the atmosphere because of global warming. Wilkerson is making a point about old poisons returning to haunt us. But by pulling in global warming (a subject she never returns to in any real fashion) so early in her book, you wonder if “Caste” will be a mere grab bag of nightmare impressions.

It isn’t.

Her consideration of the 2016 election, and American politics in general, is sobering. To anyone who imagined that the election of Barack Obama was a sign that America had begun to enter a post-racial era, she reminds us that the majority of whites did not vote for him.

She poses the question so many intellectuals and pundits on the left have posed, with increasing befuddlement: Why do the white working classes in America vote against their economic interests?

She runs further with the notion of white resentment than many commentators have been willing to, and the juices of her argument follow the course of her knife. What these pundits had not considered, Wilkerson writes, “was that the people voting this way were, in fact, voting their interests. Maintaining the caste system as it had always been was in their interest. And some were willing to accept short-term discomfort, forgo health insurance, risk contamination of the water and air, and even die to protect their long-term interest in the hierarchy as they had known it.”

In her novel “Americanah,” Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie suggested that “maybe it’s time to just scrap the word ‘racist.’ Find something new. Like Racial Disorder Syndrome. And we could have different categories for sufferers of this syndrome: mild, medium and acute.”

Wilkerson has written a closely argued book that largely avoids the word “racism,” yet stares it down with more humanity and rigor than nearly all but a few books in our literature.

“Caste” deepens our tragic sense of American history. It reads like watching the slow passing of a long and demented cortege. In its suggestion that we need something akin to South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission, her book points the way toward an alleviation of alienation. It’s a book that seeks to shatter a paralysis of will. It’s a book that changes the weather inside a reader.

While reading “Caste,” I thought often of a pair of sentences from Colson Whitehead’s novel “The Underground Railroad.” “The Declaration [of Independence] is like a map,” he wrote. “You trust that it’s right, but you only know by going out and testing it for yourself.”

Follow Dwight Garner on Twitter: @DwightGarner.

Caste

The Origins of Our Discontents

By Isabel Wilkerson

474 pages. Random House. $32.

A version of this article appears in print on Aug. 4, 2020, Section C, Page 1 of the New York edition with the headline: American Hierarchy And How It Poisons. Order Reprints | Today’s Paper | Subscribe

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https://www.nytimes.com/2020/07/31/books/review-caste-isabel-wilkerson-origins-of-our-discontents.html

Oprah Winfrey sent a book on caste to 100 US CEOs but Indians still won’t talk about it

Isabel Wilkerson’s book ‘Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents’ is creating a storm everywhere but India. And it finally studies caste as a problem, not a system.

DILIP MANDAL 23 August, 2020 9:33 am IST

Oprah talks about Isabel Wilkerson's book | Instagram/oprah

Oprah talks about Isabel Wilkerson's book | Instagram/oprah

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Oprah Winfrey’s book clubs are legendary. So, when Oprah sent out a new book to 100 American CEOs and 400 leaders soon after the transformative #BlackLivesMatters protest and called it the most important book club selection ever, the world had to pay attention. And when that book mentions ‘India’ 136 times, it becomes mandatory reading for us. And yet Caste: The Origins of Our Discontent by Pulitzer Prize-winning African-American author Isabel Wilkerson, a book that The New York Times calls an ‘Instant American Classic’ is not stirring up Indian public debate or hitting our bookshelves.

Wilkerson is not the first Western scholar to focus on India’s caste system. She is the latest entrant in the list of Célestin Bouglé, Max Weber, Louis Dumont, Émile Senart, McKim Marriott, Nicholas Dirk, Gail Omvedt, Rosalind O’Hanlon, Susan Bayly, Joan P. Mencher, the Rudolfs and many more. But what sets Wilkerson apart is that she brings her lived Black identity to the understanding of caste as a pathology.

The Washington Post headline says that the author “knows that effective discussions about race require new language”. In The New Yorker, Sunil Khilnani writes that the author illuminates and collapses a complex history of White supremacy in the US and the caste system in India. In The Guardian, Fatima Bhutto writes, “It is a painfully resonant book and could not have come at a more urgent time.”

It’s strange that other than Mumbai Mirror and Swarajya, no Indian media platform has reviewed or published excerpts from the book yet. Similarly, no TV channel (we are actually hoping for too much) has discussed it yet. Let’s hope that this epistemic gap will be fulfilled sooner or later. Especially because the word ‘caste’, which is an Indian construct, finds as many as 1,469 mentions in Wilkerson’s book, including in the title. Our very own Manu, the famous or infamous author of Manusmriti, has been mentioned six times in the book. The book also mentions Jyotirao Phule, B.R. Ambedkar, M.K. Gandhi, Jawaharlal Nehru, and so on. Caste: The Origins of Our Discontent notes how Martin Luther King Jr. was introduced to the students of a Kerala school as ‘fellow untouchables’ from the US.

Also read: Cisco case shows big corporates, market forces can’t fix caste bias. Govts must intervene

Combining life and text 

If it’s difficult to address caste in the US, it is even more so in Indian academic traditions. The study of caste in India often reduces the concept to a hermeneutic reading of ancient Sanskrit texts. If you do not know Sanskrit, you are not qualified enough to study caste and have to rely on translations of those texts considered ‘sacred’ by twice-born Hindus. So, almost all caste studies carry the burden of quoting from Purusha Sukta of Vedas, this or that smriti and some Puranas.

D.P. Mukerji argues that unless sociological training in India is grounded in Sanskrit, or any such language in which traditions have been embodied as symbols, social research in India will be a pale imitation of what others are doing. 

Sociologist Gail Omvedt has started a new tradition of studying caste by looking at the text produced by non-Brahmin authors such as Chokhamela, Janabai, Kabir, Ravidas, Tukaram, the Kartabhajas, Phule, Iyothee Thass, Pandita Ramabai, Periyar, and Ambedkar.

Wilkerson carries this tradition forward and quotes extensively from the works of Ambedkar and contemporary authors such as Suraj Yengde, Anand Teltumbde, Gurram Srinivas, V.T. Rajshekhar, Chandra Bhan Prasad, Kalpana Kannabiran, Yashica Dutt and Mohan Dass Namishray. You will probably not find such a socially diverse bibliography in any book on caste written by Indian masters of sociology.

Wilkerson’s work is also important because she does not depend too much on textual readings, but goes on to study the problem herself and carries out ethnographical work in India. This intersection of text, lived experience and ethnographic study gives her a perspective that makes her work stand out.

Also read: Lights, camera, caste – An Ambedkar photo made it to Bollywood after 38 yrs of independence

Studying caste as pathology

Wilkerson’s book situates caste here and now — and studies its roots and symptoms.

Unlike many Western authors who have looked at caste as an exotic oriental thing, or those sociologists who have seen caste as an ideology (Dumont describes caste as a binary system of pure and profane, Bouglé sees caste as a system based on separation, hierarchy and interdependence whereas Dirk defines caste more as a modern colonial construct), Wilkerson sees caste as pathology, a problem of gigantic proportion that has impacted and is still impacting millions of people and making their life miserable. At the same time, caste places millions of others in a privileged position.

While seeing caste as a pathology, Wilkerson provides a definition of casteism: “Any action or structure that seeks to limit, hold back, or put someone in a defined ranking, seeks to keep someone in their place by elevating or denigrating that person on the basis of their perceived category, can be seen as casteism.”

If we juxtapose this definition with what Nehru said in The Discovery of India on caste, then we can understand the contrast. Nehru wrote: “In the constructive schemes that we may make, we have to pay attention to the human material we have to deal with, to the background of its thought and urges, and to the environment in which we have to function. To ignore all this and to fashion some idealistic scheme in the air, or merely to think in terms of imitating what others have done elsewhere, would be folly. It becomes desirable therefore to examine and understand the old Indian social structure which has so powerfully influenced our people.”

While Nehru and Gandhi also emphasised on not harping too much on the idea of equality, because it is an alien idealistic scheme, they stressed on examining and understanding the caste system. This is exactly what all the masters of Indian sociology — from G.S. Ghurye to M.N. Srinivas and Andre Beteille — have done it all these years. They have analysed and studied caste not as a problem, but as a system.

What caste needed all along was a perspective from below — because it doesn’t exist in sociological petri dishes, it’s all around us.

Also read: Black Lives Matter must fire up India’s anti-caste movement to fight its central villain

Perspective from below

Wilkerson has a vantage point on the problem of caste because of her unique location. She gives numerous examples from the past and present to illustrate how she and other Black Americans are being viewed and treated differently, sometimes knowingly and most times, unknowingly. She asserts: “It’s [caste’s] invisibility is what gives it power and longevity.” Unlike Dumont or Bouglé and many other Western authors, Wilkerson has a better handle on the topic because she has a standpoint (the idea of standpoint in sociology has its root in feminism) of the oppressed.

That defines her focus and stock of knowledge, which translates into a narrative that is unique and powerful. She writes: “Casteism is the investment in keeping the hierarchy as it is in order to maintain your own ranking, advantage, privilege, or to elevate yourself above others or keep others beneath you….For this reason, many people—including those we might see as good and kind people—could be casteist, meaning invested in keeping the hierarchy as it is or content to do nothing to change it, but not racist in the classical sense, not active and openly hateful of this or that group.” No Ghurye or Srinivas or D.P. Mukerji could have written these lines — not because they did not have the knowledge of the caste system, but because they do not have the standpoint of a Black or a Dalit woman.

The author is the former managing editor of India Today Hindi Magazine, and has written books on media and sociology. Views are personal.

https://theprint.in/opinion/oprah-winfrey-wilkerson-caste-100-us-ceos-indians-wont-talk-about-it/487143/?fbclid=IwAR2NjnVhgzhv5DQ0PooYwtkAoEW1qYvfpSUEZZY98yVRnI9MWkZZXNz5r2U

The Flaming Heart of Danko

The Flaming Heart of Danko 
by Maxim Gorky

 Long, long ago there lived a tribe of people in a place that was
bounded by three sides by impenetrable forest and on the forth
by the step. They were a strong, brave and cheerful people, but
evil times came upon them. Other tribes came warring against them
and drove them into the depth of the forest. The forest was dark
and swampy for it was very ancient and the powers of the trees
were so closely interwoven that they shut out the view of the
sky and the sun raised its oily good to the fiest of thick foliage
and reached the waters of the swamp. And where ever they reached
those waters, poisonous vapors arose and the people began to get
sick and die. They had to get out of the forest. But there were
only two ways: one was to get back over the road they have come
but at the end of it strong and vicious foes awaited them. The
other was to push forward through the forest but there they would
encounter the giant trees whose mighty branches were closely entwined
and whose narrow roots were sunk deep into the mire of the bogs.
They were a brave people and they would have fought to the death
with those who had once defeated them, had they not feared been
wiped out in the fight. They had their forefathers behest to defend
and if they perished their behests would perished with them.

 So they sat pondering their fate through the long night with the
poisonous vapors rising around them and the forest singing its
mournful song and the shadows of the fires leaped about them in
the soundless dance and it seemed as if it won’t be a shadows
dancing but the evil spirits of forest and bog celebrating their
triumph.

 Danko was one of them and he was young and handsome. Handsome
people are always courageous. And he said to his comrades:

 “Stones are not to be removed by thinking. He who does naught
will come to naught. Why should we exhaust our energies thinking
and brooding? Arise! Let us go through the forest until we come
out at the other end. After all it must have and end. Everything
has an end. Come! Let us set forth! They looked at him and saw
that he was the best man among them for his eyes were aglow with
life and strength.

 “Lead us.” They said and he led them. And so he led them, Danko.

 And they followed him willingly for they believed in him. It was
a difficult track. It was dark and at every step the yawning bogs
swallowed people up and the trees were like a mighty wall barring
the way. Their branches were closely interwoven; their roots were
like snakes reaching out in every direction and every step these
people took cost them blood and sweat. For a long time they went
on. And the further they went, the thicker grew the forest and
the weaker grew their limbs and then they began to murmur against
Danko, saying that he was young and inexperienced and had no right
to bring them here. But he kept walking at the head, his spirit
undaunted, his mind unclouded.

 But one day a storm broke over the forest and the trees whispered
together menacingly. And instantly it became as dark as if here
had gathered all the nights that have passed since the Forrest
was born. And the little people walked on under the big trees
amid the roar of the storm and as they walked, the giant trees
creaked and sang a sinister song and a lightening flashed above
the tree tops throwing a cold blue light over the Forrest for
a brief instant, disapearing as quickly as it had appeared and
striking terror into the hearts of the people. And under the cold
flashes of the lightening the trees seemed to be thin live things
that were stretching out long nauld arms and weaving them into
a net to catch these people who were trying to escape from darkness.

 And something cold and dark and fearsome peered at them through
the dark foliage. It was a difficult track and the people who
had set out on it grew exhausted and lost heart but they were
ashamed to admit their weakness and so they poured out their anger
and resentment on Danko who was walking at the head. They began
to accuse him of being incapable of leading them. Fear was born
in their hearts, binding their strong arms. Terror gripped them
as they listened to the women wailing over the bodies of those
who have died of the poisonous vapors or lamenting over the fate
of the living made helpless by fear. And cowardly words came to
be spoken in the Forrest at first softly and timidly, but louder
and louder as time went on. And at last the people thought of
going to the enemy and making him a gift of their freedom so frightened
were they by the thought of death, that not one of them shrank
from living the life of a slave. They came to a halt and tired
and angry they began to upbraid him there in the quivering darkness
amid the triumph and roar of the storm.

 “You are a despicable and evil creature who has brought us to
grief,” they said. “You have exhausted us by leading us here.
And for that you shall die.”

 “You said ‘Lead Us’ and I led you.” Cried out Danko, turning to
face them. “I have the courage to lead you and that is why I undertook
to do so. But you? What have you done to help yourselves? You
have done nothing but follow me without husbanding your strengths
for a longer march. You merely followed me like a flock of sheep.”

 His words only infuriated them the more, “You shall die! You shall
die!” they shrieked. The Forrest roared and echoed their cries
and the lightening tore the darkness to shreds.

 Danko gazed upon those for whose sake he has undertaken such a
great labor and he saw that they were like wild beasts. Many people
were pressing about him, but he could detect no signs of humanity
in their faces and he knew that he could expect no mercy from
them. Then resentment sieved in his breast, but it was quelled
by compassion. He loved these people and he feared that without
him they would perish and the flames of a great yearning to save
them and lead them out onto an easy path leaped up in his heart
and these mighty flames were reflected in his eyes. And seeing
this the people thought that he was enraged. They thought that
is why his eyes flashed so, and they instantly grew weary, like
wolfs, expecting him to through himself against them and they
drew closer about him that they might seize him and kill him.
He saw what they were thinking, but the flames in his heart only
flared up higher for their thoughts and at the sorrow to the flames
of his yearning.

 And the Forrest went on singing its mournful song and the thunder
crashed, and the rain poured down.

 “What else can I do to save these people?” cried out Danko above
the thunder. And suddenly he reaped open his breast and tore out
his heart and held it high above his head.

 It shone like the sun, even brighter than the sun and the raging
forrest was subdued and lighted up by this torch, the torch of
a grave love for the people, and the darkness retreated before
it and plunged quivering into a yarning bark in the depth of the
Forrest. And in their astonishment the people were as if turned
into stone. The brave Danko cast his eye over the endless steppe,
cast a joyful eye over this land of freedom, gave a proud laugh
and then he fell down and died.

 And his followers were so full of joy and hope that they did not
notice that he had died and that his brave heart was still flaming
beside his dead body. But one timid creature noticed it and fearing
he knew not what, stomped on his flaming heart and it sent out
a jar of sparks and went out.

Forging the Swords - Lu Xun (Lu Hsun)

Lu Xun (Lu Hsun)
Forging the Swords
https://www.marxists.org/archive/lu-xun/1926/10/x01.htm

Written: October 1926
Source: Selected Stories of Lu Hsun, Published by Foreign Languages Press, Peking, 1960, 1972
Transcribed: Original transcription from coldbacon.com
HTML Markup: Mike B. for MIA, 2005
Public Domain: Marxists Internet Archive (2005). You may freely copy, distribute, display and perform this work; as well as make derivative and commercial works. Please credit “Marxists Internet Archive” as your source.

I
Mei Chien Chih had no sooner lain down beside his mother than rats came out to gnaw the wooden lid of the pan. The sound got on his nerves. The soft hoots he gave had some effect at first, but presently the rats ignored him, crunching and munching as they pleased. He dared not make a loud noise to drive them away, for fear of waking his mother, so tired by her labours during the day that as soon as her head touched the pillow she had fallen asleep.

After a long time silence fell. He was dozing off when a sudden splash made him open his eyes with a start. He heard the rasping of claws against earthenware.

"Good! I hope you drown!" he thought gleefully and sat up quietly.

Getting out of bed, he picked his way by the light of the moon to the door. He groped for the fire stick behind it, lit a chip of pine wood and lighted up the water vat. Sure enough, a huge rat had fallen in. There was too little water inside for it to get out. It was just swimming round, scrabbling at the side of the vat.

"Serves you right!" the boy exulted. This was one of the creatures that kept him awake every night by gnawing the furniture. He stuck the torch into a small hole in the mud wall to gloat over the sight, till the creature's beady eyes revolted him and reaching for a dried reed he pushed it under the water. After a time he removed the reed and the rat, coming to the surface, went on swimming round and scrabbling at the side of the vat, but less powerfully than before. Its eyes were under water—all that could be seen was the red rip of a small pointed nose, snuffling desperately.

For some time he had had an aversion to red-nosed people. Yet now this small pointed red nose struck him as pathetic. He thrust his reed under the creature's belly. The rat clutched at it, and after catching its breath clambered upon it. But the sight of its whole body—sopping black fur, bloated belly, worm-like tail—struck him again as so revolting that he hastily shook the reed. The rat dropped back with a splash into the vat. Then he hit it several times over the head to make it sink.

Now the pine chip had been changed six times. The rat, exhausted, was floating submerged in the middle of the jar, from time to time straining slightly towards the surface. Once more the boy was seized with pity. He broke the reed in two and, with considerable difficulty, fished the creature up and put it on the floor. To begin with, it didn't budge; then it rook a breath; after a long time its feet twitched and it turned over, as if meaning to make off. This gave Mei Chien Chih a jolt. He raised his left foot instinctively and brought it heavily down. He heard a small cry. When he squatted down to look, there was blood on the rat's muzzle—it was probably dead.

He felt sorry again, as remorseful as if he had committed a crime. He squatted there, staring, unable to get up.

By this time his mother was awake.

"What are you doing, son?" she asked from the bed.

"A rat." He rose hastily and turned to her answering briefly.

"I know it's a rat. But what are you doing? Killing it or saving it?"

He made no answer. The torch had burned out. He stood there silently in the darkness, accustoming his eyes to the pale light of the moon.

His mother sighed.

"After midnight you'll be sixteen, but you're still the same—so lukewarm. You never change. It looks as if your father will have no one to avenge him."

Seated in the grey moonlight, his mother seemed to be trembling from head to foot. The infinite grief in her low tones made him shiver. The next moment, though, hot blood raced through his veins.

"Avenge my father? Does he need avenging?" He stepped. forward in amazement.

"He does. And the task falls to you. I have long wanted to tell you, but while you were small I said nothing. Now you're not a child any longer though you still act like one. I just don't know what to do. Can a boy like you carry through a real man's job?"

"I can. Tell me, mother. I'm going to change. . . ."

"Of course. I can only tell you. And you'll have to change. . . . Well, come over here."

He walked over. His mother sat upright in bed, her eyes flashing in the shadowy white moonlight.

"Listen!" she said gravely. "Your father was famed as a forger of swords, the best in all the land. I sold his tools to keep us from starving, so there's nothing left for you to see. But he was the best sword-maker in the whole world. Twenty years ago, the king's concubine gave birth to a piece of iron which they said she conceived after embracing an iron pillar. It was pure, transparent iron. The king, realizing that this was a rare treasure, decided to have it made into a sword with which to defend his kingdom, kill his enemies and ensure his own safety. As ill luck would have it, your father was chosen for the task, and in both hands he brought the iron home. He tempered it day and night for three whole years, until he had forged two swords.

"What a fearful sight when he finally opened his furnace! A jet of white vapour billowed up into the sky, while the earth shook. The white vapour became a white cloud above this spot; by degrees it turned a deep scarlet and cast a peachblossom tint over everything. In our pitch-black furnace lay two red-hot swords. As your father sprinkled them drop by drop with clear well water, the swords hissed and spat and little by little turned blue. So seven days and seven nights passed, till the swords disappeared from sight. But if you looked hard, they were still in the furnace, pure blue and as transparent as two icicles.

"Great happiness flashed from your father's eyes. Picking up the swords, he stroked and fondled them. Then lines of sadness appeared on his forehead and at the corners of his mouth. He put the swords in two caskets.

"'You've only to look at the portents of the last few days to realize that everybody must know the swords are forged,' he told me softly. 'Tomorrow I must go to present one to the king. But the day that I present it will be the last day of my life. I am afraid we shall never meet again.'

"Horrified, uncertain what he meant, I didn't know what to reply. All I could say was: 'But you've done such fine work.'

"'Ah, you don't understand! The king is suspicious and cruel. Now I've forged two swords the like of which have never been seen, he is bound to kill me to prevent my forging swords for any of his rivals who might oppose or surpass him.'

"I shed tears.

"'Don't grieve,' he said. 'There's no way out. Tears can't wash away fate. I've been prepared for this for some time. His eyes seemed to dart lightning as he placed a sheath on my knee. 'This is the male sword,' he told me. 'Keep it. Tomorrow I shall take the female to the king. If I don't come back, you'll know I'm dead. Won't you be brought to bed in four or five months? Don't grieve, but bear our child and bring him up well. As soon as he's grown, give him this sword and tell him to cut off the king's head to avenge me!'"

"Did my father come back that day?" demanded the boy.

"He did not," she replied calmly. "I asked everywhere, but there was no news of him. Later someone told me that the first to stain with his blood the sword forged by your father was your father himself. For fear his ghost should haunt the palace, they buried his body at the front gate, his head in the park at the back."

Mei Chien Chih felt as if he were on fire and sparks were flashing from every hair of his head. He clenched his fists in the dark till the knuckles cracked.

His mother stood up and lifted aside the board at the head of the bed. Then she lit a torch, took a hoe from behind the door and handed it to her son with the order:

"Dig!"

Though the lad's heart was pounding, he dug calmly, stroke after stroke. He scooped out yellow earth to a depth of over five feet, when the colour changed to that of rotten wood.

"Look! Be careful now!" cried his mother.

Lying flat beside the hole he had made, he reached down gingerly to shift the rotted wood till the tips of his fingers touched something as cold as ice. It was the pure, transparent sword. He made out where the hilt was, grasped it, and lifted it out.

The moon and stars outside the window and the pine torch inside the room abruptly lost their brightness. The world was filled with a blue, steely light. And in this steely light the sword appeared to melt away and vanish from sight. But when the lad looked hard he saw something over three feet long which didn't seem particularly sharp—in fact the blade was rounded like a leek.

"You must stop being soft now," said his mother. "Take this sword to avenge your father!"

"I've already stopped being soft. With this sword I'll avenge him!"

"I hope so. Put on a blue coat and strap the sword to your back. No one will see it if they are the same colour. I've got the coat ready here." His mother pointed to the shabby chest behind the bed. "You'll set out tomorrow. Don't worry about me.

Mei Chien Chih tried on the new coat and found that it fitted him perfectly. He wrapped it around the sword which he placed by his pillow, and calmly lay down again. He believed he had already stopped being soft. He determined to act as if nothing were on his mind, to fall straight asleep, to wake the next morning as usual, and then to set out confidently in search of his mortal foe.

However, he couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned, eager all the time to sit up. He heard his mother's long, soft, hopeless sighs. Then he heard the first crow of the cock and knew that a new day had dawned, that he was sixteen.

II
Mei Chien Chih, his eyelids swollen, left the house without once looking back. In the blue coat with the sword on his back, he strode swiftly towards the city. There was as yet no light in the east. The vapours of night still hid in the dew that clung to the tip of each fir leaf. But by the time he reached the far end of the forest, the dew drops were sparkling with lights which little by little took on the tints of dawn. Far ahead he could just see the outline of the dark grey, crenellated city walls.

Mingling with the vegetable vendors, he entered the city. The streets were already full of noise and bustle. Men stood about idly in groups. Every now and then women put their heads out from their doors. Most of their eyelids were swollen from sleep too, their hair was uncombed and their faces were pale because they had had no time to put on rouge.

Mei Chien Chih sensed that some great event was about to take place, something eagerly yet patiently awaited by all these people.

As he advanced, a child darted past, almost knocking into the point of the sword on his back. He broke into a cold sweat. Turning north not far from the palace, he found a press of people craning their necks towards the road. He heard the cries of women and children in the crowd. Afraid his invisible sword might hurt one of them, he dared not push his way forward; but new arrivals pressed him from behind. He had to move out of their way, till all he could see was the backs of those in front and their craning necks.

All of a sudden, the people in front fell one by one to their knees. In the distance appeared two riders galloping forward side by side. They were followed by warriors carrying batons, spears, swords, bows and flags, who raised a cloud of yellow dust. After them came a large cart drawn by four horses, bearing musicians sounding gongs and drums and blowing strange wind instruments. Behind were carriages with courtiers in bright clothes, old men or short, plump fellows, their faces glistening with sweat. These were followed by outriders armed with swords, spears and halberds. Then the kneeling people prostrated themselves and Mei Chien Chih saw a great carriage with a yellow canopy drive up. In the middle of this was seated a fat man in brightly coloured clothes with a grizzled moustache and small head. He was wearing a sword like the one on the boy's back.

Mei Chien Chih gave an instinctive shudder, but at once he felt burning hot. Reaching out for the hilt of the sword on his back, he picked his way forward between the necks of the kneeling crowd.

But he had taken no more than five or six steps when someone tripped him and he fell headlong on top of a young fellow with a wizened face. He was getting up nervously to see whether the point of his sword had done any damage, when he received two hard punches in the ribs. Without stopping to protest he looked at the road. But the carriage with the yellow canopy had passed. Even the mounted attendants behind it were already some distance away.

On both sides of the road everyone got up again. The young man with the wizened face had seized Mei Chien Chih by the collar and would not let go. He accused him of crushing his solar plexus, and ordered the boy to pay with his own life if he died before the age of eighty. Idlers crowded round to gape but said nothing, till a few taking the side of the wizened youth let fall some jokes and curses. Mei Chien Chih could neither laugh at such adversaries nor lose his temper. Annoying as they were, he could not get rid of them. This went on for about the time it takes to cook a pan of millet. He was afire with impatience. Still the onlookers, watching as avidly as ever, refused to disperse.

Then through the throng pushed a dark man, lean as an iron rake, with a black beard and black eyes. Without a word, he smiled coldly at Mei Chien Chih, then raised his hand to flick the jaw of the youngster with the wizened face and looked steadily into his eyes. For a moment the youth returned his stare, then let go of the boy's collar and went off. The dark man went off too, and the disappointed spectators drifted away. A few came up to ask Mei Chien Chih his age and address, and whether he had sisters at home. But he ignored them.

He walked south, reflecting that in the bustling city it would be easy to wound someone by accident. He had better wait outside the South Gate for the king's return, to avenge his father. That open, deserted space was the best place for his purpose. By now the whole city was discussing the king's trip to the mountain. What a retinue! What majesty! What an honour to have seen the king! They had prostrated themselves so low that they should be considered as examples to all the nation! They buzzed like a swarm of bees. Near the South Gate, however, it became quieter.

Having left the city, he sat down under a big mulberry tree to eat two rolls of steamed bread. As he ate, the thought of his mother brought a lump to his throat, but presently that passed. All around grew quieter and quieter, until he could hear his own breathing quite distinctly.

As dusk fell, he grew more and more uneasy. He strained his eyes ahead, but there was not a sign of the king. The villagers who had taken vegetables to the city to sell were going home one by one with empty baskets.

Long after all these had gone, the dark man came darting out from the city.

"Run, Mei Chien Chih! The king is after you!" His voice was like the hoot of an owl.

Mei Chien Chih trembled from head to foot. Spellbound, he followed the dark man, running as if he had wings. Ar last, stopping to catch breath, he realized they had reached the edge of the fir wood. Far behind were the silver rays of the rising moon; but in front all he could see were the dark man's eyes gleaming like will-o'-the-wisps.

"How did you know me? . . . " asked the lad in fearful amazement.

"I've always known you." The man laughed. "I know you carry the male sword on your back to avenge your father. And I know you will fail. Not only so, but today someone has informed against you. Your enemy went back to the palace by the East Gate and has issued an order for your arrest."

Mei Chien Chih began to despair.

"Oh, no wonder mother sighed," he muttered.

"But she knows only half. She doesn't know that I'm going to take vengeance for you."

"You? Are you willing to take vengeance for me, champion of justice?"

"Ah, don't insult me by giving me that title."

"Well, then, is it out of sympathy for widows and orphans?"

"Don't use words that have been sullied, child," he replied sternly. "Justice, sympathy and such terms, which once were clean, have now become capital for fiendish usurers. I have no place for these in my heart. I want only to avenge you!"

"Good. But how will you do it?"

"I want two things only from you." His voice sounded from beneath two burning eyes. "What two things? First your sword, then your head!"

Mei Chien Chih thought the request a strange one. But though he hesitated, he was not afraid. For a moment he was speechless.

"Don't be afraid that I want to trick you out of your life and your treasure," continued the implacable voice in the dark. "It's entirely up to you. If you trust me, I'll go; if not, I won't."

"But why are you going to take vengeance for me? Did you know my father?"

"I knew him from the start, just as I've always known you. But that's not the reason. You don't understand, my clever lad, how I excel at revenge. What's yours is mine, what concerns him concerns me too. I bear on my soul so many wounds inflicted by others as well as by myself, that now I hate myself."

The voice in the darkness was silent. Mei Chien Chib raised his hand to draw the blue sword from his back and with the same movement swung it forward from the nape of his neck. As his head fell on the green moss at his feet, he handed the sword to the dark man.

"Aha!" The man took the sword with one hand, with the other he picked up Mei Chien Chih's head by the hair. He kissed the warm dead lips twice and burst into cold, shrill laughter.

His laughter spread through the fir wood. At once, deep in the forest, flashed blazing eyes like the light of the will-o'the-wisp which the next instant came so close that you could hear the snuffling of famished wolves. With one bite, Mei Chien Chih's blue coat was torn to shreds; the next disposed of his whole body, while the blood was instantaneously licked clean. The only sound was the soft crunching of bones.

The huge wolf at the head of the pack hurled itself at the dark man. But with one sweep of the blue sword, its head fell on the green moss at his feet. With one bite the other wolves tore its skin to shreds, then next disposed of its whole body, while the blood was instantaneously licked clean. The only sound was the soft crunching of bones.

The dark man picked up the blue coat from the ground to wrap up Mei Chien Chih's head. Having fastened this and the blue sword on his back, he turned on his heel and swung off through the darkness towards the capital.

The wolves stood stock-still, hunched up, tongues lolling, panting. They watched him with green eyes as he strode away.

He swung through the darkness towards the capital, singing in a shrill voice as he went:

Sing hey, sing ho!
The single one who loved the sword
Has taken death as his reward.
Those who go single are galore,
Who love the sword are alone no more!
Foe for foe, ha! Head for head!
Two men by their own hands are dead.

III
The king had taken no pleasure in his trip to the mountain, and the secret report of an assassin lying in wait on the road sent him back even more depressed. He was in a bad temper that night. He complained that not even the ninth concubine's hair was as black and glossy as the day before. Fortunately, perched kittenishly on the royal knee, she wriggled over seventy times till at last the wrinkles on the kingly brow were smoothed out.

But on rising after noon the next day the king was in a bad mood again. By the time lunch was over, he was furious.

"I'm bored!" he cried with a great yawn.

From the queen down to the court jester, all were thrown into a panic. The king had long since tired of his old ministers' sermons and the clowning of his plump dwarfs; recently he had even been finding insipid the marvellous tricks of rope-walkers, pole-climbers, jugglers, somersaulters, sword-swallowers and fire-spitters. He was given to bursts of rage, during which he would draw his sword to kill men on the slightest pretext.

Two eunuchs just back after playing truant from the palace, observing the gloom which reigned over the court, knew that dire trouble was impending again. One of them turned pale with fear. The other, however, quite confident, made his way unhurriedly to the king's presence to prostrate himself and announce:

"Your slave begs to inform you that he has just met a remarkable man with rare skill, who should be able to amuse Your Majesty."

"What?" The king was not one to waste words.

"He's a lean, dark fellow who looks like a beggar. He's dressed in blue, has a round blue bundle on his back and sings snatches of strange doggerel. When questioned, he says he can do a wonderful trick the like of which has never been seen, unique in the world and absolutely new. The sight will end all care and bring peace to the world. But when we asked for a demonstration, he wouldn't give one. He says he needs a golden dragon1 and a golden cauldron. . . ."

"A golden dragon? That's me. A golden cauldron? I have one."

"That's just what your slave thought. . . ."

"Bring him in!"

Before the king's voice had died away, four guards hurried out with the eunuch. From the queen down to the court jester, all beamed with delight, hoping this conjuror would end all care and bring peace to the world. Even if the show fell flat, there would be the lean, dark, beggarly-looking fellow to bear the brunt of the royal displeasure. If they could last till he was brought in, all would be well.

They did not have long to wait. Six men came hurrying towards the golden throne. The eunuch led the way, the four guards brought up the rear, and in the middle was a dark man. On nearer inspection they could see his blue coat, black beard, eyebrows and hair. He was so thin that his cheekbones stood out and his eyes were sunken. As he knelt respectfully to prostrate himself, they saw a small round bundle, wrapped in blue cloth patterned in a dark red, on his back.

"Well!" shouted the king impatiently. The simplicity of this fellow's paraphernalia did not augur well for his tricks.

"Your subject's name is Yen-chih-ao-che, born in Wenwen Village. I wasn't bred to any trade, but when I was grown I met a sage who taught me how to conjure with a boy's head. I can't do this alone, though. It must be in the presence of a golden dragon, and I must have a golden cauldron filled with clear water and heated with charcoal. Then when the boy's head is put in and the water boils, the head will rise and fall and dance all manner of figures. It will laugh and sing too in a marvellous voice. Whoever hears its song and sees its dance will know an end to care. When all men see it, the whole world will be at peace."

"Go ahead!" the king ordered loudly.

They did not have long to wait. A great golden cauldron, big enough to boil an ox, was set outside the court. It was filled with clear water, and charcoal was lit beneath it. The dark man stood at one side. When the charcoal was red he put down his bundle and undid it. Then with both hands he held up a boy's head with fine eyebrows, large eyes, white teeth and red lips. A smile was on its face. Its tangled hair was like faint blue smoke. The dark man raised it high, turning round to display it to the whole assembly. He held it over the cauldron while he muttered something unintelligible, and finally dropped it with a splash into the water. Foam flew up at least five feet high. Then all was still.

For a long time nothing happened. The king lost patience, the queen, concubines, ministers and eunuchs began to feel alarmed, while the plump dwarfs started to sneer. These sneers made the king suspect that he was being made to look a fool. He turned to the guards to order them to have this oaf, who dared deceive his monarch, thrown into the great cauldron and boiled to death.

But that very instant he heard the water bubbling. The fire burning with all its might cast a ruddy glow over the dark man, turning him the dull red of molten iron. The king looked round. The dark man, stretching both hands towards the sky, stared into space and danced, singing in a shrill voice:

Sing hey for love, for love heigh ho!
Ah, love! Ah, blood! Who is not so?
Men grope in the dark, the king laughs loud,
Ten thousand heads in death have bowed.
I only use one single head,
For one man's head let blood be shed!
Blood—let it flow!
Sing hey, sing ho!

As he sang, the water in the cauldron seethed up like a small cone-shaped mountain, flowing and eddying from tip to base. The head bobbed up and down with the water, skimming round and round, turning nimble somersaults as it went. They could just make out the smile of pleasure on its face. Then abruptly it gave this up to start swimming against the stream, circling, weaving to and fro, splashing water in all directions so that hot drops showered the court. One of the dwarfs gave a yelp and rubbed his nose. Scalded, he couldn't suppress a cry of pain.

The dark man stopped singing. The head remained motionless in the middle of the water, a grave expression on its face. After a few seconds, it began to bob up and down slowly again. From bobbing it put on speed to swim up and down, not quickly but with infinite grace. Three times it circled the cauldron, ducking up and down. Then, its eyes wide, the jet-black pupils phenomenally bright, it sang:

The sovereign's rule spreads far and wide,
He conquers foes on every side.
The world may end, but not his might,
So here I come all gleaming bright.
Bright gleams the sword—forget me not!
A royal sight, but sad my lot.
Sing hey, sing ho, a royal sight!
Come back, where gleams the bright blue light.

The head stopped suddenly at the crest of the water. After several somersaults, it started plying up and down again, casting bewitching glances to right and to left as it sang once more:

Heigh ho, for the love we know!
I cut one head, one head, heigh ho!
I use one single head, not more,
The heads he uses are galore! . . .

By the last line of the song the head was submerged, and since it did not reappear the singing became indistinct. As the song grew fainter, the seething water subsided little by little like an ebbing tide, until it was below the rim of the cauldron. From a distance nothing could be seen.

"Well?" demanded the king impatiently, tired of waiting.

"Your Majesty!" The dark man went down on one knee. "It's dancing the most miraculous Dance of Union at the bottom of the cauldron. You can't see this unless you come close. I can't make it come up, because this Dance of Union has to be performed at the bottom of the cauldron."

The king stood up and strode down the steps to the cauldron. Regardless of the heat, he bent forward to watch. The water was as smooth as a mirror. The head, lying there motionless, looked up and fixed its eyes on the king. When the king's glance fell on its face, it gave a charming smile. This smile made the king feel that they had met before. Who could this be? While he wondered, the dark man drew the blue sword from his back and swept it forward like lightning from the nape of the king's neck. The king's head fell with a splash into the cauldron.

When enemies meet they know each other at a glance, particularly at close quarters. The moment the king's head touched the water, Mei Chien Chih's head came up to meet it and savagely bit its ear. The water in the cauldron boiled and bubbled as the two heads engaged upon a fight to the death. After about twenty encounters, the king was wounded in five places, Mei Chien Chih in seven. The crafty king contrived to slip behind his enemy, and in an unguarded moment Mei Chien Chih let himself be caught by the back of his neck, so that he could not turn round. The king fastened his teeth into him and would not let go, like a silkworm burrowing into a mulberry leaf. The boy's cries of pain could be heard outside the cauldron.

From the queen down to the court jester, all who had been petrified with fright before were galvanized into life by this sound. They felt as if the sun had been swallowed up in darkness. But even as they trembled, they knew a secret joy. They waited, round-eyed.

The dark man, rather taken aback, did not change colour. Effortlessly he raised his arm like a withered branch holding the invisible sword. He stretched forward as if to peer into the cauldron. Of a sudden his arm bent, the blue sword thrust down and his head fell into the cauldron with a plop, sending snow-white foam flying in all directions.

As soon as his head hit the water, it charged at the king's head and took the royal nose between its teeth, nearly biting it off. The king gave a cry of pain and Mei Chien Chih seized this chance to get away, whirling round to cling with a vice-like grip to his jaw. They pulled with all their might in opposite directions, so that the king could not keep his mouth shut. Then they fell on him savagely, like famished hens pecking at rice, till the king's head was mauled and savaged out of all recognition. To begin with he lashed about frantically in the cauldron; then he simply lay there groaning; and finally he fell silent, having breathed his last.

Presently the dark man and Mei Chien Chih stopped biting. They left the king's head and swam once round the edge of the cauldron to see whether their enemy was shamming or not. Assured that the king was indeed dead, they exchanged glances and smiled. Then, closing their eyes, their faces towards the sky, they sank to the bottom of the water.

IV
The smoke drifted away, the fire went out. Not a ripple remained on the water. The extraordinary silence brought high and low to their senses. Someone gave a cry, and at once all called out together in horror. Someone walked over to the golden cauldron, and the others pressed after him. Those crowded at the back could only peer between the necks of those in front.

The heat still scorched their cheeks. The water, now as smooth as a mirror, was coated with oil which reflected a sea of faces: the queen, the concubines, guards, old ministers, dwarfs, eunuchs. . . .

"Heavens! Our king's head is still in there! Oh, horrors!" The sixth concubine suddenly burst into frantic sobbing.

From the queen down to the court jester, all were seized by consternation. They scattered in panic, at a loss, running round in circles. The wisest old councillor went forward alone and put out a hand to touch the side of the cauldron. He winced, snatched back his hand and put two fingers to his mouth to blow on them.

Finally regaining control, they gathered outside the palace to discuss how best to recover the king's head. They consulted for the time it would take to cook three pans of millet. Their conclusion was: collect wire scoops from the big kitchen, and order the guards to do their best to retrieve the royal head.

Soon the implements were ready:

wire scoops, strainers, golden plates and dusters were all placed by the cauldron. The guards rolled up their sleeves. Some with wire scoops, some with strainers, respectfully they set about bringing up the remains. The scoops clashed against each other and scraped the edge of the cauldron, while the water eddied in their wake. After some time, one of the guards, with a grave face, raised his scoop slowly and carefully in both hands. Drops of water like pearls were dripping from the utensil, in which lay a snow-white skull. As the others cried Out with astonishment, he deposited the skull on one golden plate.

"Oh, dear! Our king!" The queen, concubines, ministers and even the eunuchs burst out sobbing. They soon stopped, however, when another guard fished out another skull identical with the first.

They watched dully with tear-filled eyes as the sweating guards went on with their salvaging. They retrieved a tangled mass of white hair and black hair, and several spoonfuls of some shorter hair no doubt from white and black moustaches. Then another skull. Then three hairpins.

They stopped only when nothing but clear soup was left in the cauldron, and divided what they had on to three golden plates: one of skulls, one of hair, one of hairpins.

"His Majesty had only one head, Which is his?" demanded the ninth concubine frantically.

"Quite so. . . ." The ministers looked at each other in dismay.

"If the skin and flesh hadn't boiled away, it would be easy to tell," remarked one kneeling dwarf.

They forced themselves to examine the skulls carefully, but the size and colour were about the same. They could not even distinguish which was the boy's. The queen said the king had a scar on his right temple as the result of a fall while still crown prince, and this might have left a trace on the skull. Sure enough, a dwarf discovered such a mark on one skull, and there was general rejoicing until another dwarf discovered a similar mark on the right temple of a slightly yellower skull.

"I know!" exclaimed the third concubine happily. "Our king had a very high nose."

The eunuchs hastened to examine the noses. To be sure, one of them was relatively high, though there wasn't much to choose between them; but unfortunately that particular skull had no mark on the right temple.

"Besides," said the ministers to the eunuchs, "was the back of His Majesty's skull so protuberant?"

"We never paid any attention to the back of His Majesty's skull. . . ."

The queen and the concubines searched their memories. Some said it had been protuberant, some flat. When they questioned the eunuch who had combed the royal hair, he would not commit himself to an answer.

That evening a council of princes and ministers was held to determine which head was the king's, but with no better result than during the day. In fact, even the hair and moustaches presented a problem. The white was of course the king's, but since he had been grizzled it was very hard to decide about the black. After half a night's discussion, they had just eliminated a few red hairs when the ninth concubine protested. She was sure she had seen a few brown hairs in the king's moustache; in which case how could they be sure there was not a single red one? They had to put them all together again and leave the case unsettled.

By the early hours of the morning they had reached no solution. They prolonged the discussion yawning, till the cock crowed a second time, before fixing on a safe and satisfactory solution: All three heads should be placed in the golden coffin beside the king's body for interment.

The funeral took place a week later. The whole city was agog. Citizens of the capital and spectators from far away flocked to the royal funeral. As soon as it was light, the road was thronged with men and women. Sandwiched in between were tables bearing sacrificial offerings. Shortly before midday horsemen cantered out to clear the roads. Some time later came a procession of flags, batons, spears, bows, halberds and the like, followed by four cartloads of musicians. Then, rising and falling with the uneven ground, a yellow canopy drew near. It was possible to make out the hearse with the golden coffin in which lay three heads and one body.

The people knelt down, revealing rows of tables with offerings. Some loyal subjects gulped back tears of rage to think that the spirits of the two regicides were enjoying the sacrifice now together with the king. But there was nothing they could do about it.

Then followed the carriages of the queen and concubines. The crowd stared at them and they stared at the crowd, not stopping their wailing. After them came the ministers, eunuchs and dwarfs, all of whom assumed a mournful air. But no one paid the least attention to them, and their ranks were squeezed out of all semblance of order.

ఒక్క ప్రమాదం 20 మందిని కబళించింది

ఒక్క ప్రమాదం 20 మందిని కబళించింది
21-04-2017 17:26:01

చిత్తూరు జిల్లా: ఒక్క ప్రమాదం 20 మందిని కబళించింది... చిత్తూరుజిల్లా ఏర్పేడు వద్ద జరిగిన ఘోరమైన ఘటన తీవ్ర విషాదాన్ని నింపింది. ఇసుక మాఫియాకు వ్యతిరేకంగా ఆందోళన చేస్తున్న వారిపైకి లారీ దూసుకువచ్చి 20 మందిని బలితీసుకుంది. సాధారణ రోడ్డు ప్రమాదాలు జరిగితే ఇంతపెద్ద సంఖ్యలో ప్రాణ నష్టం జరగడం అరుదు. ఏర్పేడు పోలీస్ స్టేషన్ ఎదుట జరిగింది...ఓ బీభత్స కాండ.. ఆందోళన చేస్తున్నవారిపైకి అదుపు తప్పిన లారీ దూసుకువచ్చి పక్కనే ఉన్న కరెంట్ స్తంభాన్ని ఢీకొట్టి...ప్రమాదం, షార్ట్ సర్క్యూట్ కలగలిసి ఇంతమందిని బలితీసుకున్న విషాదమిది. ఇలాంటి ప్రమాదం జరిగిన తీరు ఇంతవరకు చూడలేదని అక్కడ చూసినవారు అన్నారు.

తాగుబోతు... చంపేశాడు!

తాగుబోతు... చంపేశాడు! 
22-04-2017 02:52:42

మందుకొట్టి.. స్టీరింగ్‌ పట్టిన డ్రైవర్‌.. 17 గంటలుగా డ్రైవింగ్‌
రాత్రి ఒకసారి, తెల్లారాక మరోసారి మద్యపానం..
కారు లైసెన్స్‌తో లారీ నడుపుతూ అరాచకం
(అమరావతి,తిరుపతి - ఆంధ్రజ్యోతి) పరిమితికి మించిన లోడు! డ్రైవర్‌ బాగా మందు తాగాడు! 17 గంటలుగా లారీ నడుపుతూనే ఉన్నాడు! తాగింది దిగకముందే మళ్లీ తాగాడు. స్టీరింగ్‌ మాత్రం వదల్లేదు! ఉన్నోడు ఉండకుండా... పక్కనున్న వ్యక్తితో వాదులాడుతున్నాడు!... చిత్తూరు జిల్లా ఏర్పేడులో ఘోర ప్రమాదానికి కారణమైన డ్రైవర్‌ గురువయ్య పరిస్థితి ఇది! అంతేకాదు... అతగాడికి లారీ నడిపే అర్హత కూడా లేదు. కారు డ్రైవింగ్‌ లైసెన్సుతో 14 చక్రాల లారీని నడిపేస్తున్నాడు. నెల్లూరు జిల్లా నాయుడుపేటకు చెందిన తాతమశెట్టి రమేశ్‌ రెండు నెలల కిత్రమే ఈ లారీ (ఏపీ 26 టీడీ 8679) కొన్నాడు. దొరవారిసత్రం మండలం పోలిరెడ్డి పాలెం గ్రామానికి చెందిన గురవయ్య(33)ని డ్రైవర్‌గా పెట్టుకొన్నాడు. అతను ఏడాదిన్నర క్రితం సుళ్లూరుపేట ఆర్టీఏ నుంచి కారు డ్రైవింగ్‌ లైసెన్సు తీసుకున్నాడు. అదే లైసెన్సుతో పొరుగు రాష్ట్రమైన తెలంగాణకు వెళ్లాడు. మహబూబ్‌నగర్‌లో 25 టన్నుల లోడు ఎత్తుకొని...గురువారం రాత్రి 8గంటలకు బయలు దేరాడు. ఫుల్లుగా మద్యం సేవించి రాత్రంతా లారీ నడుపుతూ వచ్చాడు. శుక్రవారం ఉదయం కడప సమీపంలో మళ్లీ మందుకొట్టాడు. స్టీరింగ్‌పై అదుపు కోల్పోయాడు.

జనాన్ని చూసి బ్రేక్‌ వేయాల్సినవాడు, యాక్సిలేటర్‌ నొక్కి విధ్వంసానికి కారణమయ్యాడు. సాధారణంగా రెండు పెగ్గుల మద్యం సేవిస్తే రక్తంలో 30 ఎంజీ లిక్కర్‌ శాతం చూపిస్తుంది. కానీ, గురువయ్య శరీరంలో ఏకంగా 287ఎంజీ శాతం కనిపించింది. రవాణా కమిషనర్‌ బాలసుబ్రమణ్యం చిత్తూరు డీటీసీ, తిరుపతి ఆర్టీవోలను ఘటనా స్థలికి పంపారు. లారీ యజమానిపైనా కేసు నమోదు చేయాలని ఆదేశించారు. ప్రమాదం జరిగిన తర్వాత తీసుకున్న చర్యలు సరే! కారు డ్రైవింగ్‌ లైసెన్సు ఉన్న గురువయ్య ఇన్నాళ్లుగా... లారీని రాష్ట్రాలు దాటిస్తుంటే అధికారులు, పోలీసులు ఏం చేస్తున్నట్లు? మద్యం మత్తులో వందల కిలోమీటర్లు నడుపుతుంటే... మన ‘తనిఖీ వ్యవస్థలు’ ఏం పని చేస్తున్నట్లు?


2 గంటల్లోనే పంచనామా..పోస్టుమార్టం
22-04-2017 02:48:30
15 మృతదేహాలకు పంచనామా నిర్వహించి రెండు గంటల వ్యవధిలోనే పోస్టుమార్టం పూర్తిచేసి స్వగ్రామాలకు తరలించేందుకు అధికారులు వేగంగా ఏర్పాట్లు చేశారు. జిల్లా కలెక్టర్‌ ప్రద్యుమ్న, జేసీ శ్రీగిరీషా, సబ్‌కలెక్టర్‌ నిషాంతకుమార్‌, ఎస్పీ జయలక్ష్మి, తిరుమల ఏఎస్పీ మురళీకృష్ణ, శ్రీనివాసులు, మెడికల్‌ కళాశాల ప్రిన్సిపాల్‌ రమణయ్య అర్బన్‌ తహసీల్దార్‌ చంద్రమోహన్‌, వైద్యులు తదితరులంతా ఆస్పత్రికి చేరుకున్నారు. ఒక్కో మృతదేహానికి ఒక్కొక్కరు బాధ్యత వహించి యుద్ధ ప్రాతిపదికన పంచనామా నిర్వహించారు. వెనువెంటనే శవ పరీక్షలు పూర్తి చేశారు. ఇలా రెండు గంటల్లోనే ఈ ప్రక్రియ ముగించేలా అధికారులు చర్యలు చేపట్టారు.

మేటలపై ‘బ్రదర్స్‌’ మాఫియా - మృత్యువైన మూడో ధర్నా

మేటలపై ‘బ్రదర్స్‌’ మాఫియా  - మృత్యువైన మూడో ధర్నా 
22-04-2017 02:50:49
వాగు రక్షణ పోరు రక్తసిక్తం
తిరుపతి, ఏప్రిల్‌ 21 (ఆంధ్రజ్యోతి): మునగలపాళెం వాసులకు వ్యవసాయమే జీవనాధారం. ఊరుపక్కనుంచే స్వర్ణముఖి ప్రవహిస్తుండటంతో 30 అడుగుల లోతులోనే నీళ్లు లభిస్తున్నాయి. రైతులంతా హ్యాండ్‌ బోర్లు వేసుకొని పంటలు సాగు చేసుకొంటున్నారు. నదిలో స్మగ్లర్లు కొంతకాలంగా పెద్ద ఎత్తున ఇసుక లోడేస్తుండటం ప్రాణసంకటంగా మారింది. వాగులోని ఇసుకమేటలకు, రైతుల బోర్లకు సంబంఽధంఉంది. నదిలో మేటలు హరించుకుపోతున్నకొద్దీ బోర్లలో నీరు ఎండిపోవడం మొదలైంది. దీనిపై గ్రామస్థులంతా సంఘటితమయ్యారు. ఏర్పేడు తహసిల్దార్‌ కార్యాలయంలో ఎన్నిసార్లు అర్జీలు ఇచ్చినా, ఫలితం లేకపోయింది. కొన్నినెలల కిందట తహసిల్దార్‌ కార్యాలయానికి తాళం వేసి.. ధర్నా చేశారు.

ఉగాదికి ముందురోజు.. శ్రీకాళహస్తి- తిరుపతి జాతీయ రహదారిపై రెండోసారి బైఠాయించారు. అప్పటికీ కదలిక లేకపోవడంతో.. నేరుగా స్మగ్లర్లను అడ్డుకొన్నారు. రగిలిపోయిన స్మగ్లర్లు, చీకటి మాటున గురువారం రాత్రి ఊరిపై దాడిచేశారు. దీనిపై రైతులంతా సమావేశమయ్యారు. శుక్రవారం ఇంటికొకరు చొప్పున వెళ్లి అధికారులను నిలదీయాలని అనుకున్నారు. అనుకున్నట్లే అంతా తహసిల్దార్‌ కార్యాలయానికి వెళ్లారు. ఏర్పేడు పోలీసు స్టేషనకి అర్బన్‌ ఎస్పీ వచ్చారని తెలుసుకొని, మధ్యాహ్నం 12 గంటల సమయంలో అక్కడకు వెళ్లారు. ఆశించిన ఊరట లభించకపోవడంతో.. పోలీస్‌ స్టేషన్‌ ఎదుట, మూడోసారి ధర్నాకు కూర్చొంటుండగా లారీ రూపంలో మృత్యువు వీరిని కబళించింది.

మేటలపై ‘బ్రదర్స్‌’ మాఫియా
22-04-2017 02:53:16

నదీ వాగు గర్భంలో గునపం
రైతు బతుకుకు పెనుగండం
ఎదురుతిరిగిన మునగలపాళెం
(ఆంధ్రజ్యోతి, తిరుపతి) ఏర్పేడు మండల పరిధిలో స్వర్ణముఖి నదికి అటు ఇటు కొన్ని గ్రామాలు ఉన్నాయి. వాటిలో కొన్ని గ్రామాలకు స్వర్ణముఖి నీరే ప్రాణాధారం. అందులో మునగలపాళెం ఒకటి. ఈ నదిలో భారీగా ఇసుక మేటలున్నాయి. ఇసుకకు విపరీతమైన డిమాండ్‌ ఏర్పడిన క్రమంలో పక్క గ్రామానికి చెందిన ఒక కుటుంబం కన్ను పడింది. ఒకే కుటుంబానికి చెందిన ఐదుగురు అన్నదమ్ములు ఇసుక మేటల వద్ద పీఠమేసుకొని కూర్చొన్నారు. ట్రాక్టర్లు, టిప్పర్లతో ఇసుక మేటలను తిరుపతి, బెంగళూరు, చెన్నై తదితర ప్రాంతాలకు తరలిస్తున్నారు. ప్రతి రోజూ పగటి పూట 60 ట్రాక్టర్లు, రాత్రిళ్లు పదుల సంఖ్యలో టిప్పర్లతో అక్రమంగా తరలిస్తున్నారు.

ఇక్కడ ఇసుక వీరే తీయాలి. లేదంటే..వారికి కప్పం కట్టి తవ్వుకోవాలి. అధికార పార్టీకి చెందిన ఒక ముఖ్యనేతకు సన్నిహితులమని చెప్పుకొంటూ తిరుగుతున్నారు. ఎందుకొచ్చిన గొడవ అని అధికారులు, పోలీసులు సైతం చూసీచూడనట్టు వ్యవహరిస్తున్నారు. విచ్చలవిడిగా స్మగ్లింగ్‌కు పాల్పడుతున్నా, కనీసం కేసు కట్టలేదు. ఈక్రమంలో నదిలో ఇసుక మేటలు కరిగిపోవడం మొదలయింది.

అప్పటిదాకా మునగలపాళెంలో ఎక్కడ తవ్వినా 30 అడుగుల్లోనే బోరు పడేది. అలాంటిది వ్యవసాయ బోర్లు వరుసగా ఎండిపోవడం మొదలయింది. మునగలపాళెం రైతుల్లో కలవరం బయలుదేరింది. వాగులో ఇసుక మేటలతోనే తమ బతుకు ముడిపడిపోయిందని గ్రహించారు. ఏడాది కాలంగా చావోరేవో అన్నట్టు అన్నదమ్ముల దందాపై దండెత్తుతున్నారు. ఇక తమ పోరాటాన్ని ఉధృతం చేయడానికి సిద్ధమవుతున్న క్రమంలోనే, ఏర్పేడు పోలీస్‌ స్టేషన్‌ వద్ద లారీ చక్రాల కింద ఛిద్రమయిపోయారు.

లోకేష్, బొజ్జలకు చేదు అనుభవం

లోకేష్, బొజ్జలకు చేదు అనుభవం 
13:48 - April 22, 2017

చిత్తూరు : ఏర్పేడు మృతుల కుటుంబాలను పరామర్శించడానికి వెళ్లిన మంత్రి నారా లోకేష్‌ , బొజ్జలకు చేదు అనుభవం ఎదురైంది. ఇందంతా అధికారుల నిర్లక్ష్యం వల్ల జరిగిందని బాధితులను వారిని నిలదీశారు. మానవ తప్పిదం వల్ల ఈ ప్రమాదం జరిగింది. దీని వెనుక ఇసుక మాఫియా ఉందన్న వాదానను లోకేష్ ఖండించారు. మృతుల కుటుంబాలకు నష్టపరిహారం కింద రూ.10 లక్షల చెక్కులు పంపిణీ చేశారు. శుక్రవారం లారీ ప్రమాద ఘటనలో 16 మంది మృతి చెందారు. వీరు ఇసుక మాఫియాపై ఫిర్యాదు చేయడానికి పోలీసు స్టేషన్ వెళ్లారు. ఫిర్యాదుపై సీఐ స్పందించలేదు. అయితే అక్కడే ఉన్న వారి పైకి లారీ దూసుకొచ్చింది. దీంతో 15 మంది అక్కడికక్కడే మృతి చెందారు. మరొకరు చికిత్స పొందుతూ మృతి చెందారు. మరో 21 మందికి గాయాలైన విషయం తెలిసిందే.