Professional Documents
Culture Documents
The Axe
The Axe
An astrologer passing through the village foretold that Velan would live in a three-storeyed
house surrounded by many acres of garden. At this everybody gathered round young Velan and
made fun of him. For Koppal did not have a more ragged and godforsaken family than Velans.
His father had mortgaged every bit of property he had, and worked, with his whole family, on
other peoples lands in return for a few annas a week . . . A three-storeyed 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 Baughthat 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 existed only in the mind of the gardener. What they could
see now was acre upon acre of weed-covered land. Velans 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 flowershibiscus, chrysanthemum, jasmine, roses and cannain 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 arent, we shall be the laughingstock 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 woodwork 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 house-builders 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 cant hug, and go up and spread. Be fit to stand
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. Dont cut it down . . .
But it is the companys orders. What can we do? We shall be dismissed if we dont 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. Brothers, dont 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: Dont cut yet. I am still within hearing. Please
wait till I am gone farther.