The Milkman- A Short Tale by Ronald Hadrian

Gokul, the milkman, had worked all his life. He owned neither the cows nor the sheep. Everything belonged to the landlord, Naveen anna, as everyone called him. He was a bulky, wealthy man whose four gold rings dangled heavily on his fingers. Acres of land, a huge house, and power over every inch of the village.

Gokul had worked for him since he was a teenager. He was a distant relative, and it was Naveen anna who had taken him in, given him a job, and placed all the cows and sheep under his care. Every icy winter morning, he woke long before sunrise to milk the cows, trudged from house to house delivering the milk, then carried the remaining cans to the Aavin Milk Bank. The rest of the day went into tending the sheep. By night, he slept in a rattling shack on top of the mountain, shivering in the cold. Often, he had to howl, shout, and chase away wild bears and prowling gaurs whenever they came near the potato fields. His entire life had been this routine. He knew nothing else.

Then one day, everything changed. His son said he wanted to go to college.

Gokul had no means, no savings, no way to support such a dream. Desperate, he went to the landlord and asked if he could sponsor his son’s studies. Naveen anna’s face darkened, his cheeks turning red.

“Why don’t you make him work for me?” he said. “These days, college is a waste of time. Even graduates come to me begging for a job.”

The answer shook Gokul to the core. He did not want his son condemned to the same life, barking at animals and sleeping cold on a mountain. That night, he didn’t even bother to shout at the wild boars rummaging in the potato fields.

After a few days, an opportunity appeared. If he had to send his boy to college, he would do it, whatever it cost him.

The opportunity came disguised as an accident. The landlord hurried off somewhere and forgot one of his gold rings on the table. Gokul saw it. He hesitated. He didn’t want to do it. But the temptation swallowed him whole. His son needed the money. His son’s dream deserved a chance.

The ring slipped into his pocket.

The expected chaos never came. No questions, no searches. By then, Gokul had left for Aavin with the milk cans as usual. With every step, the weight of guilt pressed down on him. He had stolen from the man who had sheltered him.

Still, he kept going. At the main bazaar, he pawned the ring. An old Jain man with spectacles perched on his nose looked at him suspiciously.

“What do you need the money for?” he asked, almost snarling.

“For college fees… my son ji…” Gokul muttered, cheeks burning.

“Is this your ring?” the man asked, staring straight at him.

“Yes, the only ring I have ji,” Gokul said. Then quickly added, “My in-laws gave it to me for my marriage.”

The pawnbroker examined him one last time, then decided not to ask any more questions. He handed over the money. It was enough to pay the college fees.

That evening, Gokul placed the crumpled notes in his son’s hands.

“That’s all I can do,” he said. “Study well. I don’t want you to end up like me.”

The boy’s face lit up with joy unaware of the price his father had paid.

Several years later, his son was settled in Chennai. He sent his father money regularly. Gokul finally saved enough to get back the ring he had pledged.

“I’ve come to take back my ring, ji,” he said as he sat down.

“What ring?” the old man asked. Then a slow smile spread across his face.

“The one I pledged for my son’s college fees.”

“Oh, that one… I threw it away.”

“What?” Gokul gasped.

“What use is it to you now?” the pawnbroker said, glancing at other customers.

“That ring is important,” Gokul pleaded. “I have the money. Please give me the ring ji”

The old man stood up. “Come outside.”

Gokul followed him. From the corner of the street, the Race Course track was visible, horses galloping away in clouds of dust.

“Have you ever bet on horses?” the old man asked.

“No,” Gokul replied, confused. “Ji, you’re stalling for time. You don’t have the ring.”

“I’ve bet on many horses, and I know which ones will win,” the pawnbroker laughed. “The ring you brought was not even gold. And I knew it wasn’t yours. I know your landlord … he buys from me. I knew you were desperate. So I made a bet that one day you would return.”

Gokul’s face went pale. Tears welled up and rolled down.

“You see, we Jains must not kill ants or any living thing. And for me, killing dreams is just as sinful…”

Gokul donated the money to the Jain temple, then walked his usual path to the Aavin Bank, thinking quietly to himself:

“Naveen anna is going to be furious if I’m late to milk the cows.”