A Social Worker in Name Only.
Writer:– SOHAN GHOSH
Everyone in the village knew him as Babu Ram.
His full name was Babu Ram Lal Singh—a man so miserly that money itself seemed to tremble in his presence.
He never married. Not because he lacked prospects, but because the thought of spending money on another human being gave him cold sweats. Ironically, he was far from poor. He owned several acres of ancestral land in the village and two houses in the city, both rented out for a handsome monthly income. His bank balance was equally impressive—though no one benefited from it, least of all society.
One day, Babu Ram was invited to a wedding. Dressed neatly in trousers and a shirt, he stepped out of his house and walked to the local stand where autos, buses, and battery-operated rickshaws were easily available.
A rickshaw arrived. Babu Ram raised his hand and stopped it.
“Will you go to the station?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Twenty rupees.”
Babu Ram gasped.
“Twenty? From here?”
“That’s the rate, sir. Auto or bus—same fare.”
Thus began the ritual he loved most: bargaining.
“Can’t you make it a little less?”
“No, sir.”
“Reduce five rupees.”
“No.”
“Three?”
“No.”
“Not even one rupee?”
The driver sighed.
“Alright, sir. Nineteen rupees. What can I do? I haven’t had a single passenger since morning.”
“Don’t call me miserly,” Babu Ram protested. “I’m just economical.”
“Fine. Please sit quickly. With that nineteen rupees, I’ll buy sweets for my son. He can’t eat plain rice with potatoes every day.”
Babu Ram puffed up with pride.
“See how much help I’ve given you! I’m a very kind-hearted man.”
The driver said nothing.
As the rickshaw moved, Babu Ram smiled to himself.
“My name is Babu Ram,” he thought, “and I make fools of everyone.”
At the station, he entered a cloth shop and argued his way into buying the cheapest fabric possible—after all, one couldn’t attend a wedding empty-handed. Then, without buying a ticket, he boarded the train to Debipur Station.
From there, he walked to the wedding house.
His first task was reconnaissance.
What food was being served?
And where?
Next stop—the coffee stall. Coffee downed. Gift handed over. Then he marched to the pandal and sat down to eat.
Salt and a slice of lemon arrived first. The lemon disappeared straight into a plastic bag.
Then came beguni (fried eggplant). He was given one. He asked for another. Ate one. Bagged the other.
Next—luchi and curry. Four eaten. Four packed.
Rice, meat, side dishes—everything, one by one, quietly slipped into plastic bags.
He tried to stay discreet.
But someone noticed.
“What are you doing?” the man asked.
Babu Ram froze, then said innocently,
“What? What am I doing?”
“Why are you packing all the wedding food?”
Babu Ram straightened his back.
“I am protecting the environment. Leftover food gets wasted. Dogs and crows scatter it, causing pollution, foul smells, and degradation of our surroundings. As a responsible citizen and an environmentalist, how could I tolerate that?”
People began to gather.
One of them asked,
“Then why are you taking so much food?”
With a grave expression, Babu Ram replied,
“The catering boys—they felt like my younger brothers. They kept saying, ‘Brother, take this. Brother, take that.’ How could I refuse? I have a soft heart. If I said no, they might feel hurt. Tell me—how could I, as their elder brother, break their hearts?
“My grandmother used to say, ‘Food is Goddess Lakshmi.’ Now tell me—when Lakshmi herself comes into my hands, how could I turn her away? Since childhood, I’ve learned—never kick away the Lakshmi you receive.”
Before he could finish, someone shouted,
“Are you making fun of us?”
And then—justice was delivered.
Several people grabbed Babu Ram and beat him soundly.
As blows rained down, he screamed,
“Why are you hitting me? I was only doing social service!”
One man said calmly,
“For this social service, we’re giving you a reward.”
“Goddess Lakshmi will curse you if you beat me!” Babu Ram cried. “She’s inside my bag!”
From the crowd, a voice replied,
“Oh no—this isn’t beating. This is appreciation. What greater reward could there be for a responsible social worker like you? Goddess Lakshmi will be very pleased.”
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NOTE:–
The original version of this story was written in Bengali. The present text is its English translation.
