Stories on the City

by Premchand

  The mother-in-law loved her greatly, so she agreed to go along. They got the carriage ready and set out. Prabha’s make-up gave the impression that she was very happy, even though a fierce rage was burning within her. But she hid her anger by beginning to sing in a sweet voice.

  The carriage was racing through a charming grove now. The pleasant shade of tall trees fell on both sides of the road. The well-bred horses of the carriage were tip-tapping, moving forward with heads and tails raised in pride. Looking ahead, Prabha said to herself, ‘Aha! That, in front, is Krishna’s bungalow, the one with rose bushes on all four sides.’ To her, those blooms felt like cruel thorns piercing her heart. She cast a cursory glance at the bungalow. Pashupati could not be seen but Krishna and her sister, Maya, were strolling in the garden. The carriage had just gone past the bungalow when the two sisters called out to Prabha and, within a moment, both the girls raced to the gate, running and jumping like does. The carriage came to a halt.

  Krishna said smilingly to the mother-in-law, ‘Ammaji, leave Prabha with us for an hour or so today. You can take her back when you return from the ride.’ With that the sisters pulled Prabha out of the carriage. How could the mother-in-law refuse? When the carriage left, the sisters took Prabha to the garden and sat her down on a bench. Prabha hesitated to talk to them. She tried to converse with a smile on her face because she did not want to express the feelings of her heart. Her heart, however, stayed hesitant.

  Throwing a sharp glance at Prabha’s sari, Krishna said, ‘Sister, did you buy this sari recently? Its pink colour does not suit you. Why didn’t you get some other colour?’

  Prabha replied, ‘It was his choice. What could I do?’

  Both the sisters laughed uproariously. Then Maya said, ‘What can one say about that gentleman’s taste? It’s different from the entire world. He just passed by. The turban on his head was redder than this sari.’

  Suddenly, Pashupati, on his way back from the ride, passed that way. When he saw Prabha with the sisters, he wanted to stop the car. He thought it indecent to meet them by himself, which is why he had wanted Prabha to come along with him. Earlier, while going on the ride, he could not bring himself to stop there despite summoning much courage. Now, when he saw Prabha there, he had a great desire to visit the house, but hearing the resonant laughter of the sisters, he hesitated and did not get out of the car.

  The three elegant ladies sat in silence for some time. Then Krishna said, ‘Pashupati Babu wants to come here, but cannot because of embarrassment. It is my view that relatives should not have such hesitation between them. As far as I am concerned, I think this social code is nasty. What do you think, Prabha?’

  Maya said mockingly, ‘This is injustice on the part of society.’

  Prabha, who was at this moment staring at the ground, had such disgust in her eyes that it transformed the sisters’ banter into shamefaced silence. A fiery glance darted from her eyes and burnt down their drollery and slut-like behaviour which had pierced her loyal heart like arrows—her heart which had no place for anybody other than her husband.

  When Maya noticed that Prabha was full of rage, she rose from the bench and said, ‘Come, let us walk. It is surely better than sitting here.’

  Prabha did not rise, but the sisters started strolling in the garden. It was then that Prabha’s attention was drawn to their clothes and jewellery. Maya was wearing a pink sari of fine Bengal silk, with numerous pleats. She was carrying a silk parasol in her hand, which she had kept open to shield herself from the dying rays of the sun. Krishna’s attire was similar, though her sari was yellow, and her curly hair, escaping the sari, was frolicking on her cheeks and forehead.

  Just one look at these women made Prabha realize that neither of them loved her husband. A debauchery-like obsession with fun and banter would bring not only infamy to them but also disrepute to her simple-minded husband. She swore to herself that she’d save her dear bumblebee from these poisonous flowers and, come what may, she wouldn’t let him hover around them. These flowers only have beauty and fragrance but not a bit of nectar.

  The moment Prabha returned home, she went to the room where her daughter, Shanta, was playing in her nanny’s lap. Her eyes welled up at the sight of her young, full-of-life, doll-like daughter’s face. Overcome by motherly affection, she picked up the child, as if protecting her from some ferocious beast. In that moment of unbearable agony, she said suddenly, ‘My child! There are people who want to snatch your father away from you! Hai! Will you now become an orphan? No, no! If I have my way, I will save him with these feeble hands of mine.’

  From that day Prabha immersed herself in depressive thoughts and emotions. Imagining the impending calamity, she’d sometimes be overcome by fear and cry out. A vision floated before her eyes. A vision of the imminent disaster which was hurtling towards her, but her daughter’s lisping words and the pure light of her eyes would calm her turbulent heart. Prabha would then take the girl in her lap and the sweet smile which played on the thin, pink lips of her child would scatter away all of her worries and fears. The glint of hope in the child’s trusting eyes would assure her.

  Hah! Unfortunate Prabha! Do you even know what is going to befall you?

  3

  It was a moonlit summer night and the faint, cool glow of the seventh-day moon spread across the world. Holding a branch of a jasmine tree and leaning against its trunk, Pashupati was gazing steadily at Maya’s room. The door was open. In the quiet of the night, the rustle of their saris, mingled with the sweet voice of the two maidens, faded into the sky before reaching his ears. Suddenly, the sisters came out of the room and walked straight towards where Pashupati was standing. As they approached the tree, Krishna was startled to see Pashupati’s shadow and exclaimed, ‘Look, sister, what do we have here?’

  Pashupati stepped forward and stood before them. Krishna recognized him and said harshly, ‘What are you doing here? Tell me, why are you here? Quick!’

  Pashupati lost his bearings. He forgot all the amorous lines that he had memorized for this occasion. Collecting himself, he said, ‘Nothing, darling. This evening when I was passing by your house, I heard you telling your sister that you would sit under this tree to savour the moonlight. I also . . . to say something to you . . . at your feet . . . to surrender . . .’

  A naughty twinkle escaped Krishna’s eyes when she heard this and, with a hint of a mocking smile, she said, ‘Look, Mister, you are acting weird today. Please get up from my feet and whatever you want to say, say quickly, and shed all your tears in one second. I don’t like those who stammer and stutter while imploring. Say whatever you wish to say . . . So you won’t speak up? All right, time’s up. I am leaving.’

  Krishna walked away. Maya followed her. Pashupati stood fixed for a moment, and then he followed them. It was as if he was a needle drawn naturally towards a magnet.

  Suddenly, Krishna stopped and said, ‘Listen, Pashupati Babu, this evening while I was talking to Prabha, I understood that she does not approve of us meeting.’

  Pashupati said, ‘Don’t even talk of Prabha.’

  Krishna chastised him, ‘Why should I not? Is she not your wife? At this hour, leaving her alone at home, what have you come to say? That I should not speak of her?’

  Pashupati replied, ‘No. To tell you that this harsh separation is now unbearable!’

  Krishna laughed uproariously and said, ‘You seem to be proficient at this art. Love! Surrender! Fiery separation! Where have you learnt these words from?’

  Pashupati tried to answer, ‘Krishna, I love you so much that I am going insane.’

  ‘Why do you not love Prabha?’

  ‘I am your devotee.’

  ‘But why do you forget that you are Prabha’s master?’

  ‘To you, I’m a slave.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear such things.’

  ‘You’ll have to hear everything I say. I’ll do whatever you want.’

  ‘And what if Prabha comes to know of all this?’<
br />
  ‘If she does, so be it. I am prepared for everything. I’ll die if you do not look at me with mercy.’

  ‘Don’t you think of your wife when you say such things?’

  ‘I don’t want to be her husband. I was created to be your slave. The fragrance that is emanating from that pink sari of yours is all that my life is. These tiny, beautiful feet of yours are my life. Your laughter, your vision, your every limb is my life. I was born only for you.’

  Finally, Krishna had to shut him up, saying, ‘My ears are now tired of hearing all this. I do not have time for this lecture and this prosaic poetry. Come Maya, I am feeling cold. Let’s go and sit inside.’

  Darkness spread before Pashupati’s eyes when he heard these cruel words. But even now his heart wanted him to fall at Krishna’s feet and narrate his love story in even more poignant words. The sisters, however, had reached their room by this time and shut the door. There was nothing left for Pashupati to do except feel disheartened and return home.

  Krishna went back to her room and, feeling somewhat exhausted, sat down in a chair and reflected, ‘Prabha will make a mountain out of a molehill if she hears this. It will become the talk of the town and we won’t be able to show our faces anywhere. And all this because of some harmless banter! But there is no doubt that Pashupati’s love is true. Whatever he says, he says it from his heart. He will desert Prabha if I give him even the slightest hint. He is not in control of himself, he is ready to do whatever I command. But no, Prabha, don’t worry, I won’t let you down. You’re much beneath me. It’s not a matter of pride for my peerless beauty that I win a contest against one without beauty, like you. Unfortunate Pashupati! Whatever was destined for you has already happened. I pity you, but what can be done!’

  4

  One letter had already been discovered. This was the second letter that Prabha found in the pocket of her husband’s coat. What kind of letter? Ah! Reading the letter, Prabha felt a fire rising in her body. She explained to herself, So it can be said that now he belongs to Krishna. Without doubt. It is shameful for me to live any more! When life affords me no pleasure any more, why should I not cast away this burden? The Pashupati who hadn’t had an iota of interest in poetry had now turned into a poet and wrote letters to Krishna in verse. To divert her husband’s attention, Prabha did whatever she could, but the torrent of love could not be stopped and in that torrent today, Prabha’s life-boat was tossing away aimlessly.

  It was without doubt that Prabha truly loved her husband. Surrender, however, is appeased by surrender alone. It cannot tolerate neglect and callousness. A sentiment of rebellion rose in Prabha’s heart. She lost her self-pride. Innumerable pledges would take shape in her heart but she would end up crying over her helplessness and humiliation. Ah! Everything that she had had been snatched from her and she had no friend, no companion in the world!

  These days Pashupati was obsessed with dressing up, getting a new suit almost every day. Seeing him combing his hair in front of the mirror, tears would flow from Prabha’s eyes, and she would complain to herself, All this preparation is for that bitch! This anxiety stung her like a venomous snake. She would scan every word and action of her husband with a fine eye. So many things that had earlier gone unnoticed now appeared suspicious to her. She couldn’t sleep at night. Sometimes she would inspect Pashupati’s pockets, and at other times, read the letters kept on his table. Her days and nights were occupied by this recce.

  She would reflect, ‘Should I be deprived of love? Can I not be his darling? Life is not immortal and youth too will last only a few years. Will I have to live my life abandoned by him? O cruel man, you have betrayed me. You have turned your eyes away. But your greatest sin is that you have shown me the tarnished way of life. Can’t I also betray you and enjoy the pleasure of blemished love? Even if it is watered by my tears, can I not make a pleasure garden for myself? There is a curly-haired young man in the house across, who looks amorously at me whenever he has the opportunity. Can I not claim domination over his heart by just one dart of love? What wrong would I have committed if I avenged your callousness in this manner? Why, after all, did I surrender my life to my husband? Only so that I could live happily; to desire and to be desired and be the empress in the kingdom of love. But ah! All those desires are now wallowing in dust! What is left for me now? Who will mourn if I were to die today? No! They will light lamps and celebrate. Krishna will laugh and say, “Now it’s only you and me. There is no hurdle, no thorn between us.”’

  Ultimately, Prabha got carried away in a torrent of such tainted sentiments. Her nights were now sleepless and hopeless, and a storm of blighted emotions rose up inside her with a fierce intensity. She could never love any other man. This business happens only once in a lifetime. But she could surely become somebody’s darling, which required only a sweet smile and a sidelong glance. And when she becomes somebody’s sweetheart, how pleasurable will the thought be that she has avenged her husband’s infidelity! With what pride, what satisfaction, and what joy will she then look at his face!

  It was evening and Pashupati was out for a drive. Prabha went up to the terrace and looked at the house across. The curly-haired young man was looking towards her terrace. Prabha, today, for the first time, looked smilingly at the young man. He too smiled and lowered his eyes, as if signalling that he was a seeker of her favours. Prabha looked around with pride, as if wanting to tell Pashupati, You think that your falling at that slut’s feet causes no injury to my heart. You love her, so I too will frolic with him. Why? You don’t like this? You can’t bear to see this scene with an undisturbed mind? Why does your blood boil? I am doing exactly what you’ve done!

  Ah! If Pashupati had known how his hard-heartedness had transformed the heart of this goddess-like, loyal woman, would he not be filled with remorse about his deeds? Would he not be ashamed of his deeds?

  Prabha gestured to the young man, saying, ‘Today we shall meet in that field on the eastern side,’ and descended from the terrace.

  Prabha’s heart then felt a sort of curiosity which was also mixed with the joy of revenge. She went to her room and began putting on her best jewellery. In another moment, she emerged from her room wearing a light-green silk sari and was about to set out, when Shanta called, ‘Amma, where are you going? I will also come along.’

  Prabha immediately picked up the child in her lap and, as she held her in a close embrace, her motivations changed. What boundless faith, what innocent love, what unadulterated love flowed from her eyes! That moment reminded her of a mother’s obligations. Could she let her desire for romantic love trample upon her motherly affection? Could she sacrifice her motherly duty over a raging desire for revenge? Could she decimate that girl’s future, that girl’s life, for her own momentary pleasure? Two drops of tears rolled down Prabha’s eyes. She answered her own question, ‘No. Not at all. I can bear anything for my dear child.’

  5

  A month went by. Prabha had been trying to forget her worries, but Pashupati would bring up Krishna every day in their conversation on some pretext or the other. Sometimes he would mockingly say, ‘If you allow it, Prabha, then may I marry Krishna?’ Except for crying, how else could Prabha respond to this?

  Finally, one day, Pashupati said to her beseechingly, ‘What can I say, Prabha? The image of that beautiful maiden does not leave my eyes. She has utterly ruined me.’ Saying this, he smote his forehead several times. This made Prabha’s heart stir with pity. His condition was akin to a patient who knew that death was at hand but whose desire to live grew every day. Prabha loved her husband despite all this and, in keeping with her womanly spirit, she would try to think of excuses that would make her forget his sins and forgive him.

  One day Pashupati came home late at night. All through the night he kept murmuring, ‘Krishna! Krishna!’ in his sleep. Prabha heard the yowling cry of her lover and cried silently all night. Just cried and cried!

  The morning found Prabha standing with a glass of milk for Pashupa
ti, while he fell at her feet, pleading, ‘Prabha, I have a plea for you. Only you can save me or I will die. I know that hearing this will cause great pain to you, but have mercy on me. I will never forget this benevolence of yours. Have mercy on me.’

  Prabha began to tremble. In her heart, she knew what Pashupati wanted to say. She drew back in fear, kept the glass of milk on the table and, with trembling hands, covered her face which had turned pale. Nevertheless, Pashupati blurted it all out. The blaze of desire could no longer be contained, it had to burst forth. He had decided to marry Krishna. He’d keep her in a separate house and spend two nights with Prabha and then one with Krishna.

  Prabha did not cry when she heard this; rather, she stood rooted to the spot. She felt as if something was choking her throat and she could not breathe.

  Pashupati resumed, ‘Prabha, you do not know that I have never loved you the way I do today. I can’t be separated from you. I will love you all my life just as I do now, but Krishna will turn out to be the cause of my death. You alone can rescue me. Don’t abandon me in her hands, my love!’

  Doomed Prabha! Your permission is being sought to slaughter you! Either you will bow your head or raise it in self-pride and declare, ‘I cannot accept such a deplorable proposal!’

  Prabha, however, did neither. She fell unconscious on the floor. When she came to, she said, ‘Very well, as you wish, but excuse me! I will go to my mother’s house. Give me my Shanta.’

  Crying, she went in to get Shanta and came out of the room holding the child close. Pashupati, with his head bowed in shame and guilt, followed her and said, ‘Do as you wish, Prabha, and what can I say, but dear Prabha, promise that you will forgive me.’ But Prabha did not reply to this and continued towards the gate. Pashupati then stepped forward, held her and, repeatedly kissing her tear-soaked cheeks, said, ‘My love, do not forget me. Your memory shall always reside in my heart. Give me your ring. I will keep it close to my heart as a memento to soothe this fire. For God’s sake, Prabha, do not abandon me, do not be angry with me . . . stay with your mother for a week. Then I will come and fetch you.’