HOW MUCH WEALTH DO WE NEED?

Once upon a time there was a peasant named Pahom.  He used to work hard and honestly for his family, but he had no land of his own.  So he always remained as poor as the next man. 

Close to Pahom’s village there lived a lady, a small landlady who had an estate of about three hundred acres.  One winter the news got about that the lady was going to sell her land.  Pahom spoke to his wife and they put their heads together and considered how they could manage to buy it.  He collected altogether half of the purchase money.  Having done this, Pahom chose a farm of forty acres went to the lady and bought it paying half of the price in cash and half on credit.

Now Pahom had land of his own. He borrowed seed, and sowed it, and the harvest was a good one. Within a year he had managed to pay off all his debts to the lady.  So he became a landowner, plowing and sowing his own land, his heart would fill with joy.  The grass that grew and the flowers that bloomed there seemed to him unlike any that grew elsewhere.  Formerly, when he had passed by that land, it had appeared the same as any other land, but now it seemed quite different.

One day Pahom was sitting at home when a peasant, passing through the village, happened to stop over.  Pahom asked him where he came from.  The stranger answered that he came from beyond the Volga, where he had been working.  One word led to another, and the man went on to say that much land was for sale there, and many people were moving there to buy it. “Why should I suffer in this narrow hole,” Pahom thought, “if one can live so well elsewhere?”  So he sold his land and homestead and cattle, all at a profit, and moved his family to the new settlement.  Everything the peasant had told him was true, and Pahom was ten times better off than he had been. He bought plenty of arable land and pasture, and could keep as many heads of cattle as he liked.

At first, in the bustle of building and settling down, Pahom was pleased with it all, but when he got used to it he began to think that even here he was not happy and satisfied.  He wanted to till more land but he had not enough land of his own.  He started renting extra land year by year.  He might have gone on living comfortably, but he grew tired of having to rent other people’s land every year, and having to scramble to pay for it.

Then one day a passing land dealer said he was just returning from the land of Bashkirs, far away, where he had bought thirteen thousand acres of land, all for only one thousand rubles. “All one need do is to make friends with the chiefs by way of giving them gifts, and I got the land for less than two pence an acre.”

So Pahom left his family to look after the homestead and started on the journey, taking his servant with him. They stopped at a town on their way and bought a good quantity of gift items.  On and on they went until they had gone more than three hundred miles, and on the seventh day they came to a place where the Bashkirs had pitched their tents.

As soon as they saw Pahom they came out of their tents and gathered around their visitor.  Pahom took presents out of his cart and distributed them, and told them he had come to buy some land. The Bashkirs took him to their chief.  The chief listened to Pahom, and said: “Well, let it be so.  Choose whatever piece of land you like.  We have plenty of it.”

“And what will be the price?” asked Pahom.

“Our price is always the same: one thousand rubles a day.”

Pahom did not understand and asked, “A day? What measure is that? How many acres would that be?”

“We do not know how to reckon it out,” said the chief. “We sell it by the day.  As much as you can go round on your feet in a day is yours, and the price is one thousand rubles a day.”

Pahom was surprised.  “But in a day one can get round a large tract of land,” he excalimed.

The chief laughed.  “It will be all yours!” said he. “But there is one condition: if you don’t return on the same day to the spot whence you started, your money is lost.”

“But how am I to mark the way that I have gone?”

“Why, we shall go to any spot you like, and stay there.  You must start from that spot and make your round, taking a spade with you.  Wherever you think necessary, make a mark.  At every turning, dig a hole and pile up the turf; then afterward we will go round with a plot from hole to hole.  You may make as large a circuit as you please, but before the sun sets you must return to the place you started from.  All the land you cover will be yours.”

Pahom was delighted. It was decided to start early next morning.  Pahom lay on the bed they provided for him; but he could not sleep. He kept thinking about the land. “What a large tract I will mark off!  I can easily do thirty-five miles in a day, and within a circuit of thirty-five miles what a lot of land there will be!”

He got up early morning and went to Bashkirs.

“Its time to go to the steppe to measure the land,” he said. 

The Bashkirs rose and assembled, and the chief came too. They began drinking tea and coffee, but Pahom would not wait.  The Bashkirs got ready and they all started.  When they reached the steppe, the morning red was beginning to kindle. They ascended a hillock and dismounting from their carts and their horses, gathered in one spot. The chief came up to Pahom and stretched out his arm toward the plain. 

“See”  said he, “all this, as far as your eye can reach, is ours. You may have any part of it you like.”

Pahom’s eyes glistened: it was all virgin soil, as flat as the palm of our hand.

The chief took off his fox fur cap, placed it on the ground and said:

“This will be the mark.  Start from here and return here again.  All the land you go round shall be yours.”

Phom took out his money and put it on the cap, put on his sleeveless undercoat, put a little bag of bread into the breast of his coat, and   tying  a flask of water to his girdle, he drew up the tops of his boots, took the spade from his man, and stood ready to start.  He turned his face to the rising sun. The sun rays had hardly flashed above the horizon, before Pahom, carrying the spade over his shoulder, went down into the steppe.  He started walking neither slowly nor quickly.  After going a thousand yards he stopped, dug a hole, and placed pieces of turf on one another to make it more visible. Then he went on; and now that he had walked off his stiffness he quickened his pace.  After a while he dug another hole.

Pahom looked back.  The hillock could be distinctly seen in the sunlight, with the people on it. Pahom concluded that he had walked three miles.  It was growing warmer; he took off his undercoat, flung it across his shoulder, and went on again.  It had grown quite warm now; he looked at the sun, it was time to think of breakfast.  After breakfast he took off his boots, stuck them into his girdle, and went on. It was easy walking now.  “I will go on for another three miles,” he thought, “and then turn to the left.  This spot is so fine, that it would be a pity to lose it. The further he goes, the better the land seems.”

He went straight on for a while, and when he looked round, the hillock was scarcely visible.  “Ah,” thought Pahom, “I have gone far enough in this direction, it is time to turn.”  He stopped, dug a large hole, and heaped up pieces of turf. He drank few sips of water from his flask and then turned sharply to the left. He went on and on; the grass was high, and it was very hot.

Pahom began to grow tired: he looked at the sun and saw that it was noon.

He sat down for a while, ate some bread and drank some water and started his walk again thinking “This is no hour to rest; this is an hour to suffer and a lifetime to live.”

He went a long way in this direction also, and was about to turn to the left again, when he perceived a damp hollow: “It would be a pity to leave this piece out,” he thought. So he went on past the hollow, and dug a hole on the other side of it before he turned the corner. 

“Ah” thought Pahom, “I have made the sides too long; I must make this one shorter.”  And he went along the third side, stepping faster. He looked at the sun: it was nearly halfway to the horizon, and he had not yet done two miles of the third side of the square.  He was still ten miles from the goal.

Now Pahom decided to take his walk back to hillock he started from.  He was feeling his walk becoming difficult.  He was done up with the heat, his bare feet were cut and bruised, and his legs began to fail.  He longed to rest, but it was impossible if he meant to get back before sunset.  The sun waits for no man, and it was sinking lower and lower.

He looked toward the hillock and at the sun. He was still far from his goal and the sun was already near the rim.

Pahom walked on and on; it was very hard walking, but he went quicker and quicker.  He pressed on, but was still far from the place.  He began running, threw away his coat, his boots, his flask, and his cap, and kept only the spade which he used as a support.

“What shall I do,” he thought again.  “I have grasped too much, and ruined the whole affair.  I can’t get there before the sun sets.”  This fear made him still more breathless.  Though afraid of death, he could not stop.  He ran on and on, and drew near and heard the Bashkirs yelling and shouting to him, and their cries inflamed his heart.  He gathered his last strength and ran on.

The sun was close to the rim and cloaked in mist looked large, and red as blood.  Now, yes now, it was about to set! The sun was quite low, but he was also quite near his goal.  He could already see the people on the hillock waving their arms to hurry him up.  He could see the fox fur cap on the ground, and the chief sitting on the ground holding his sides. He took a long breath and ran up the hillock.  It was still light there.  He reached the top and saw the cap on the ground and the money on it and the chief sitting on the ground.  Pahom uttered a cry: his legs gave way beneath him, he fell forward and reached the cap with his hands.

“Ah, that’s a fine fellow!” exclaimed the chief.  “He has gained much land!”

Pahom’s servant came running up and tried to raise him up, but he saw that blood was flowing from his mouth.  Pahom was dead!

The Bashkirs clicked their tongues to show their pity and sorrow.

His servant picked up the spade and dug a grave long enough for Pahom to lie in there, and buried him in it.  Six feet from his head to his heels was all he needed and got it.

Note:    This story by Leo Tolstoy (1828-1910), was written in 1886. This is a                      marvelous metaphor for the needs of our life be set on definite boundaries of our own appetites.

ISRAR HASAN

30 JULY 2014