The Hindu Business Line : The party always works

It had been a long night for Lakhi. His aged mother had writhed and groaned the whole night complaining of that old pain in the abdomen. Why's she complaining, the vegetable seller fretted. The pain had been her companion for some months; she should have got used to it by now.

His handsome face wore a frown in the morning. What could he do? When the drain in front of his shop gets clogged, he complains to the party leaders. The last time somebody erected a new electric pole near his house, it was the party leaders who came to his rescue. How could a neighbour get an electric connection without consulting him? The neighbour himself had run from pillar to post complaining about Lakhi's intransigence, but who listens? An electricity board official plainly told him only the party could help.

The party intervened, and a settlement was reached, with Lakhi's new neighbour being asked to pay a large sum. Ah, the party! A smile lit up Lakhi's face. He would mention his mother's illness to the party leader who should be coming to the nearby teashop soon. Nowadays the party leader did not come as early as before. He had a new task: that of ensuring higher sales of Ganashakti, the Marxist party's Bengali newspaper. Podoon-o-pawdaan was the new ethos: read and make others read.

As a krishak sabha official, Anil-da has a large responsibility. Before the elections it was he who had to organise partymen to go from door to door raising funds. After all, elections required money; and he had clear instructions from the leader under whose name receipt coupons were issued. Villagers cannot do without the farmers' committee. Krishak sabha members are always within reach, something that could not be said of other parties when they won the elections.

Great, thought Lakhi, I shall ask Anil-da about mother's illness. He's bound to have a solution. The krishak sabha knew everything. It had even rushed to Singur where a motorcar factory was being proposed. Anil-da thought deeply, hand on the chin. Lakhi, have you sold that plot you bought some years ago? No? Maybe you should sell it now. Go to Chennai. They have good hospitals there. The last time I went to Lakhi's shop, it was his mother who sold me potatoes. Lakhi had flown her to Chennai for an operation. But she wasn't smiling. Groaning has become part of her now: not even Yama wanted her. The god of death has suffered a setback at the hands of the party.