Telugu original: Mangari Rajender ‘Zimbo’
Translated into English by Rajeshwar Mittapalli

Deepak came to see his friend Anurag one evening.

Without a word of greeting, he burst out, “Innocent men are rotting in jails. They have no good lawyers. They cannot tell their stories before a court. The courts themselves seem deaf to their suffering. The police stations are worse—men there can barely speak at all. The air itself feels heavy, as if words cannot move within it. You find the same thing in the Revenue offices. Farmers stand before collectors with folded hands, and these collectors, in turn, stand the same way before ministers.”

He paused for breath before continuing.

“It is not only officials. Even the ministers are the same. Those with status and influence can walk in and see them easily, get their work done, speak freely. Ordinary men cannot even express their pain. Every system has grown like this. The common people have forgotten what it means to speak their truth. Even if they wish to, no one is there to listen. Nowhere does one find an ear that will hear their woes.”

Deepak sighed. “It all feels very heavy, Anurag.”

Anurag looked at him for a long moment. “There’s an old story,” he said at last, “about how a ruler—and those who serve under him, whether judges, policemen, or jail officials—should conduct themselves. Listen.”

He began to tell the tale.

* * *

Long ago, there lived a king who had a son—the only heir to the throne. The king wished that his son would grow into a ruler wise in judgement, just in temper, and mindful of those he ruled. When the prince came of age, the king sent him away to a guru who lived deep within the forest.

Before sending him off, the king said, “Listen well to what your guru teaches you. Understand it properly, and act upon it. If you find something puzzling, ask him again until it becomes clear. But do not question his command.”

The prince nodded. “Yes, Father.”

He rode into the forest and met the guru, explaining who he was and why he had come. The guru already knew that this pupil did not need training in archery or battle craft. The king’s wish was different—he wanted a ruler who could govern with compassion.

The guru looked thoughtful and said, “Go into the deeper forest and stay there for fifteen days. Listen carefully to every sound you hear. When your time is done, return and tell me what you have heard.”

The prince agreed, tethered his horse at the ashram, and walked alone among the trees.

At first, he could not grasp the reason behind his task. Still, he obeyed. Day after day, he wandered through the forest—mornings, evenings, and nights surrounded by whispering leaves and the hum of unseen life. He listened to every sound. After fifteen days, he returned to the guru.

The guru smiled at him and asked, “Tell me in detail what you have heard.”

“I heard the songs of koels,” said the prince. “The chirping of other birds in the branches. The roars and calls of beasts. The rustle of dry leaves beneath my feet. The sound of wind passing through the trees. Many sounds—each with its place.”

The guru listened and nodded. “That will not do,” he said quietly. “Go again. Spend another fifteen days there. Listen once more—and this time, listen differently. Hear what lies beyond the noise.”

The prince felt puzzled, even weary of the task, yet he remembered his father’s last words and asked no questions. He returned to the forest. He did not understand why the guru sent him there again, nor what he was expected to hear, yet he obeyed. He sat alone in a remote clearing and listened.

One morning, faint sounds reached him—unlike any he had heard before. They were delicate, almost imperceptible, yet they carried weight. He stayed alert for the remaining days, listening, discerning, learning patience.

When the time ended, he returned to the ashram and stood before the guru.

“And now?” asked the guru, watching him closely. “What did you hear this time?”

“I listened very carefully, as you had asked,” said the prince. “I heard the flowers opening. I saw the leaves of the trees holding the dew like a prayer. I heard the sorrow of the trees as they were cut down. I understood the speech of those who make no sound—the pain of those who cannot speak. I noticed the desolation of birds that have lost the gift of flight.”

A faint smile crossed the guru’s face. “That,” he said, “is what a ruler must hear. The words of those who cannot speak. The grief of those whose voices do not reach the court or the palace. Only one who can listen to such silence can rule rightly. Only such a person can be a just judge. Only when the speechless are heard and understood will the people have faith in their rulers.”

The prince bowed his head. The lesson had struck home.

The guru said, “You may return to your kingdom now.”

Taking his leave, the prince mounted his horse and rode back—his mind quiet, his heart awake.

* * *

Anurag finished the story and leaned back.

“That story is very old,” he said, “yet it still holds true today. There are many rulers now—ministers, judges, officers, collectors, policemen. Whoever they may be, if they wish to discharge their duty rightly, they must learn to listen to the pain of those who cannot speak it aloud. They must understand the anguish in another’s heart. And once they understand, they must attempt to ease it. This story belongs to every age.”

Deepak frowned. “But how many such listeners exist now, Anurag—among the officers, the judges, the ministers, the police?”

Anurag gave no answer.

That question, he thought, could only be answered by time itself.
 

“Pain of the Voiceless” (titled “Cheppukoleni Valla Badha…”  in Telugu) by Mangari Rajender ‘Zimbo’ was first published in Disha Digital Daily, 24 July 2021, and later included in his collection of short stories titled Nenu... Naa Nalla Kotu (Me… My Black Gown), published by Prose Poetry Forum, 2024.

Translated into English by Rajeshwar Mittapalli.

Mangari Rajender ‘Zimbo’ is an eminent judicial officer, jurist, legal educator, and writer with over forty years of service. Starting as an advocate in 1982, he entered the Judicial Service in 1989 and served across Andhra Pradesh and Telangana as Senior Civil Judge, Additional District & Sessions Judge, and Judge, Family Court, known for fair and humane judgments. He also contributed to legal education as Faculty at the AP Police Academy, Director of the AP Judicial Academy, and Member of the Telangana State Public Service Commission. A pioneer in delivering judgments in Telugu, he authored over fifty law books, six poetry anthologies, and six short story collections, including Hazar Ho, Okka Kesu Chaalu, Maa Vemulawada Kathalu, and Nenu... Naa Nalla Kotu. He last served as Director, Telangana State Judicial Academy, until August 2024.