The magnificent short story written by R.K. Narayan Out of business. Included in the Calcutta University Syllabus. Share it.
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R.K. Narayan: Out of Business
Little over a year ago Rama Rao went out of work
when a gramophone company, of which he was the Malgudi agent, went out of
existence. He had put into that agency the little money he had inherited, as
security. For five years his business brought him enough money, just enough, to
help him keep his wife and children in good comfort. He built a small bungalow in
the Extension and was thinking of buying an old Baby car for his use.
And one day, it was a bolt from the blue, the crash
came. A series of circumstances in the world of trade, commerce, banking and
politics was responsible for it. The gramophone company, which had its factory
somewhere in North India, automatically collapsed when a bank in Lahore
crashed, which was itself the result of a Bombay financier’s death. The
financier was driving downhill when his car flew off sideways and came to rest
three hundred feet below the road. It was thought that he had committed suicide
because the previous night his wife eloped with his cashier.
Rama Rao suddenly found himself in the streets. At
first he could hardly understand the full significance of this collapse. There
was a little money in the bank and he had some stock on hand. But the stock
moved out slowly; the prices were going down, and he could hardly realize a few
hundred rupees. When he applied for the refund of his security, there was
hardly anyone at the other end to receive his application.
The money in the bank was fast melting. Rama Rao’s
wife now tried some measures of economy. She sent away the cook and the
servant; withdrew the children from a fashionable nursery school and sent them
to a free primary school. And then they let out their bungalow and moved to a
very small house behind the Market.
Rama Rao sent out a dozen applications a day and
wore his feet out looking for employment. For a man approaching forty, looking
for employment does not come very easily, especially when he has just lost an
independent, lucrative business. Rama Rao was very businesslike in stating his
request. He sent his card in and asked, ‘I wonder, sir, if you could do
something for me. My business is all gone through no fault of my own. I shall
be very grateful if you can give me something to do in your office . . .’
‘What a pity, Rama Rao! I am awfully sorry, there
is nothing at present. If there is an opportunity I will certainly remember
you.’
It was the same story everywhere. He returned home
in the evening; his heart sank as he turned into his street behind the Market.
His wife would invariably be standing at the door with the children behind her,
looking down the street. What anxious, eager faces they had! So much of trembling,
hesitating hope in their faces. They seemed always to hope that he would come
back home with some magic fulfilment. As he remembered the futile way in which
he searched for a job, and the finality with which people dismissed him, he
wished that his wife and children had less trust in him. His wife looked at his
face, understood and turned in without uttering a word; the children took the
cue and filed in silently. Rama Rao tried to improve matters with a forced
heartiness. ‘Well, well. How are we all today?’ To which he received mumbling,
feeble responses from his wife and children. It rent his heart to see them in
this condition. At the Extension how this girl would sparkle with flowers and a
bright dress; she had friendly neighbours, a women’s club and everything to
keep her happy there. But now she hardly had the heart or the need to change in
the evenings, for she spent all her time cooped up in the kitchen. And then the
children. The house in the Extension had a compound and they romped about with
a dozen other children; it was possible to have numerous friends in the
fashionable nursery school. But here the children had no friends and could play
only in the back yard of the house. Their shirts were beginning to show tears
and frays. Formerly they were given new clothes once in three months. Rama Rao
lay in bed and spent sleepless nights over it.
All the cash in hand was now gone. Their only
source of income was the small rent they were getting for their house in the
Extension. They shuddered to think what would happen to them if their tenant
should suddenly leave.
It was in this condition that Rama Rao came across
a journal in the Jubilee Reading Room. It was called The Captain. It consisted of
four pages, and all of them were devoted to crossword puzzles. It offered every
week a first prize of four thousand rupees.
For the next few days his head was free from family
cares. He was thinking intensely of his answers: whether it should be TALLOW or
FOLLOW. Whether BAD or MAD or SAD would be most apt for a clue which said, ‘Men
who are this had better be avoided.’ He hardly stopped to look at his wife and
children standing in the doorway when he returned home in the evenings. Week
after week he invested a little money and sent his solutions, and every week he
awaited the results with a palpitating heart. On the day a solution was due he
hung about the newsagent’s shop, worming himself into his favour in order to
have a look into the latest issue of The Captain without paying for it. He was too impatient to
wait till the journal came on the table in the Jubilee Reading Room. Sometimes
the newsagent would grumble, and Rama Rao would pacify him with an awkward,
affected optimism. ‘Please wait. When I get a prize I will give you three
years’ subscription in advance . . .’ His heart quailed as he opened the page
announcing the prize-winners. Someone in Baluchistan, someone in Dacca and
someone in Ceylon had hit upon the right set of words; not Rama Rao. It took
three hours for Rama Rao to recover from this shock. The only way to exist
seemed to be to plunge into the next week’s puzzle; that would keep him buoyed
up with hope for a few days more.
This violent alternating between hope and despair
soon wrecked his nerves and balance. At home he hardly spoke to anyone. His
head was always bowed in thought. He quarrelled with his wife if she refused to
give him his rupee a week for the puzzles. She was of a mild disposition and
was incapable of a sustained quarrel, with the result that he always got what
he wanted, though it meant a slight sacrifice in household expenses.
One day the good journal announced a special offer
of eight thousand rupees. It excited Rama Rao’s vision of a future tenfold. He
studied the puzzle. There were only four doubtful corners in it, and he might
have to send in at least four entries. A larger outlay was indicated. ‘You must
give me five rupees this time,’ he said to his wife, at which that good lady
became speechless. He had become rather insensitive to such things these days,
but even he could not help feeling the atrocious nature of his demand. Five
rupees were nearly a week’s food for the family. He felt disturbed for a
moment; but he had only to turn his attention to speculate whether HOPE or DOPE
or ROPE made most sense (for ‘Some people prefer this to despair’) and his mind
was at once at rest.
After sending away the solutions by registered post
he built elaborate castles in the air. Even if it was only a share, he would
get a substantial amount of money. He would send away his tenants, take his
wife and children back to the bungalow in the Extension and leave all the money
in his wife’s hands for her to manage for a couple of years or so; he himself
would take a hundred and go away to Madras and seek his fortune there. By the
time the money in his wife’s hands was spent, he would have found some
profitable work in Madras.
On the fateful day of results Rama Rao opened The Captain, and the correct solution
stared him in the face. His blunders were numerous. There was no chance of
getting back even a few annas now. He moped about till the evening. The more he
brooded over this the more intolerable life seemed . . . All the losses,
disappointments and frustrations of his life came down on him with renewed
force. In the evening instead of turning homeward he moved along the Railway
Station Road. He slipped in at the level crossing and walked down the line a
couple of miles. It was dark. Far away the lights of the town twinkled, and the
red and green light of a signal post loomed over the surroundings a couple of
furlongs behind him. He had come to the conclusion that life was not worth
living. If one had the misfortune to be born in the world, the best remedy was
to end matters on a railway line or with a rope (‘Dope? Hope?’ his mind asked involuntarily).
He pulled it back. ‘None of that,’ he said to it and set it rigidly to
contemplate the business of dying. Wife, children . . . nothing seemed to
matter. The only important thing now was total extinction. He lay across the
lines. The iron was still warm. The day had been hot. Rama Rao felt very happy
as he reflected that in less than ten minutes the train from Trichinopoly would
be arriving.
He lay there he did not know how long. He strained
his ears to catch the sound of the train, but he heard nothing more than a
vague rattling and buzzing far off . . . Presently he grew tired of lying down
there. He rose and walked back to the station. There was a good crowd on the
platform. He asked someone, ‘What has happened to the train?’
‘A goods train has derailed three stations off, and
the way is blocked. They have sent up a relief. All the trains will be at least
three hours late today . . .’
‘God, you have shown me mercy!’ Rama Rao cried, and
ran home.
His wife was waiting at the door, looking down the
street. She brightened up and sighed with relief on seeing Rama Rao. She
welcomed him with a warmth he had not known for over a year now. ‘Oh, why are
you so late today?’ she asked. ‘I was somehow feeling very restless the whole
evening. Even the children were worried. Poor creatures! They have just gone to
sleep.’
When he sat down to eat she said, ‘Our tenants in
the Extension bungalow came in the evening to ask if you would sell the house.
They are ready to offer good cash for it immediately.’ She added quietly, ‘I
think we may sell the house.’
‘Excellent idea,’ Rama Rao replied jubilantly.
‘This minute we can get four and a half thousand for it. Give me the half
thousand and I will go away to Madras and see if I can do anything useful
there. You keep the balance with you and run the house. Let us first move to a
better locality . . .’
‘Are you going to employ your five hundred to get
more money out of crossword puzzles?’ she asked quietly. At this Rama Rao felt
depressed for a moment and then swore with great emphasis, ‘No, no. Never
again.’
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Read more about the author here, https://www.thefamouspeople.com/profiles/r-k-narayan-5285.php.
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- Out of Business | R.K. Narayan | Summary
- Out of Business | R.K. Narayan | Important Questions & Answers
- Out of Business | R.K. Narayan | Story Analysis and Review
Know more about stuff related:-
Reference:-
- “Out Of Business.” Ankit Sahay, 26 Sept. 2017, www.ankitsahay.com/out-of-business/.
- University of Calcutta. University English Selections: Three Year Degree Course, 2007
For latest syllabus, both for compulsory and
alternative papers for B.Sc. Part – I exam, check out the CU’s official notice http://www.caluniv.ac.in/news/Revised-Syllabus-Eng-HGCCA.pdf for more info. To refer to the old syllabus, click on
this link http://www.caluniv.ac.in/syllabus/eng-alternative-compulsury.pdf .
**There are constant un-noticed changes within the university which needs your attention at regular intervals for better results.
**There are constant un-noticed changes within the university which needs your attention at regular intervals for better results.
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