by Premchand
But it so happened that he had only just gone out when the boy returned home. I asked him, ‘Where have you been? Your father, the poor man, has gone out to look for you. Just wait and see what’s in store for you today! You’ll never dare do it again. He was gnashing his teeth. He’ll be back any minute now. He’s got his stick with him. You’ve got so wild that you do not listen to what we say. Well, today you’ll be taught a lesson. You’ll learn what’s good for you.’ The boy was scared stiff. He lit the lamp and sat down to study. His father returned two hours later, looking distressed and woebegone. The moment he got in he asked, ‘Is he back?’ I wanted to fuel his anger, so I said, ‘Yes, he’s back. You go and ask him where he’s been. I’ve stopped asking him. He won’t give me a straight answer.’
He growled, ‘Munna, come here!’
The boy was terribly frightened. He went out and stood in the courtyard, trembling all over. The two girls scurried inside the house, wondering what calamity was going to befall them. The younger boy was peeping out of the window like a mouse from its hole. Their father was in a rage and held the stick in his hand. Seeing his angry face, I began to regret having complained about the boy. He marched towards the boy—and then, instead of striking him with his stick, he placed his hand gently on his shoulder and said in mock anger, ‘Where on earth have you been, mister? You’re told off again and again but you don’t listen. Mark my words, if you ever come home so late again, you’ll be in trouble! Good people come back home in the evening, and don’t go roaming the street like loafers!’
I thought, That must be the preamble. Not a bad one! Now he’ll come down to the serious business. But it’s both the preamble and the denouement. He calmed down. The boy ran off to his room. He would have probably danced in relief at being let off so lightly. I was disappointed and began to protest. ‘Seeing you in action, anyone would think you’re scared of him. You might at least have given him a tight slap or two. This treatment will make him wilder. Today he came home at eight. Tomorrow he’ll return at nine. Do you have any idea what he must be thinking now?’ He said, ‘Didn’t you hear how I scolded him? He must have been scared to death. Let me assure you, he won’t come home late again.’
‘Scold him? You didn’t scold him. You wiped his tears for him.’
A fancy idea has got hold of him, which is that corporal punishment is bad for boys. He thinks boys should be free. There should be no restriction or pressure on them. He thinks that restrictions hinder their cognitive development. The consequence of this was there for everyone to see—the boys were behaving like unbridled horses. They wouldn’t sit still for a minute and concentrate on a book. Sometimes they’re playing tipcat, sometimes it’s marbles and sometimes it’s kites. And his highness joins in too. He’s past forty now, but still harbours boyishness in his heart. None of my brothers would have dared to fly kites or play tipcat in my father’s presence. He’d have drawn their blood. At the break of day, he’d make them sit down at their tables and teach them, and as soon as they were back from school the same routine would follow. There was a break for just half an hour in the evening. At night, they’d be made to work again. It was not like this––that the father is reading the newspaper while the sons are roaming in the streets.
Sometimes my husband forgets his age and sits down to play cards with the boys. How can such a father inspire any awe in his children? It’s a far cry from my papa. My brothers wouldn’t have dared to look him in the eye. We’d start trembling at the sound of his voice. He stepped into the house and all of us became quiet. The boys felt as though they were taking their lives in their hands when they faced him. Thanks to such an upbringing, all of them are now settled with good jobs. It is true that none of them enjoys good health, but then Papa’s health was not very good either. Poor man, he used to always get sick. So how could his sons’ health be good? Anyway, whatever the circumstances, he gave them an education and brought them up in a disciplined manner.
One day, I saw his lordship teaching our elder son how to fly a kite. ‘Turn it like this, plunge it like that, pull it like this, let it go like that.’ He was teaching with such single-minded devotion, as if he were a guru teaching sacred mantras to his disciple. That day I gave him a piece of my mind which I am sure he won’t forget for a long while. I told him plainly, ‘Who do you think you are, ruining my children’s life? If you’ve got no interest in your family, fine. But don’t spoil my children. Don’t inculcate bad habits in them. If you can’t improve them, at least don’t ruin them.’ He tried to defend himself. My father would never take any of his boys to any fair or spectacle. No matter how much fuss the boys made he would never relent. But this good man is not only ready to take them but begs each one of them to go with him. ‘Come on! It’ll be great fun! There’ll be fireworks and balloons and English giant wheels. You’ll enjoy a ride on them!’ As though that were not enough, he doesn’t even stop them from playing hockey. These English games are frightening. Cricket, football, hockey––each more fatal than the other. If the ball hits you, you might even die. But he has a fascination for these games. When one of the boys comes home and announces that his side has won, he is overjoyed, as though they have won a battle. He’s not concerned in the least, never thinks of what will happen if one of them gets hurt. What kind of life will they lead if they break an arm or a leg, poor boys?
Last year, we got our daughter married. He was determined he wouldn’t give even a penny in dowry, not even if the girl had to remain unmarried all her life. He sees the sordid reality of life every day, but fails to learn from it. So long as our social system does not change and people continue to point fingers at girls who remain unmarried after puberty, this custom isn’t going to disappear. You might find a handful of people ready to marry without demanding a dowry, but that doesn’t make much of a difference and the social evil continues to persist. If a time ever comes when girls, like boys, can remain unmarried at twenty or twenty-five without inviting social opprobrium, then this custom will disappear automatically. The question of dowry always came up wherever I tried to get her married and every time he threw a spanner in the works. After this went on for an entire year, and the girl was nearly seventeen, I was able to strike a deal with a party. His lordship too consented to it, because they didn’t make any formal demand, even though they felt sure in their minds that they’d be given a decent amount. I too had made up my mind to make the utmost effort to ensure that nothing was found wanting. I had no doubt that the wedding would take place without any hindrance. But his majesty, the great social reformer, ruined everything. ‘This custom is evil, that custom is irrational. Why should we spend money on that? Why do we need singers?’ I was on tenterhooks. ‘Why this? Why that? That’s dowry by another name. You’ve disgraced me. You’ve ruined my good name.’ Just think of it, the bridegroom’s party is waiting at the door and we’re splitting hairs over every little thing. The appointed time for the marriage was midnight. The girl’s parents are expected to fast on that day. I did, but he stubbornly refused. ‘When the parents of the groom don’t fast, why should the bride’s parents do so?’ Not only me, but the whole family tried to stop him from eating, but no, he had his breakfast and meals as usual. Night came, and it was time for the kanyadaan. He considers it absurd and has always objected to this ceremony. ‘A girl isn’t an object to give away. You could give away money or even animals, but “giving away” a girl is surely to hit rock bottom!’
I tried my best to persuade him. ‘It’s an ancient custom, sir. The shastras ordain it in unequivocal terms.’ His relatives and friends tried to bring him round, but to no avail. I reasoned with him, ‘What will people say? They’ll think we’ve given up faith and become atheists.’ But he stood stubborn like a mule. I fell at his feet and pleaded with him, ‘All right, don’t do anything if you don’t want to. I’ll do all that’s required to be done. But just come and sit in the mandap next to the girl and give her your blessing.’ But this man simply turned a deaf ear to all my entreat
ies. In the end, I couldn’t take it any more and broke into tears. I couldn’t accept the fact that when the girl’s father was alive and present there his brother or my brother should give her away. So I managed all the rituals of the kanyadaan on my own. He didn’t take any interest in the proceedings. On top of it, he was annoyed with me. He wouldn’t speak to me for months after the event. And in the end, it was I who had to make the effort to reconcile with him!
But it’s quite surprising that in spite of all these things I can’t bear to be away from him for a single day. I love him despite all his faults. I don’t know what is there about this incomprehensible man that makes me so crazy about him. There must be something that makes me a slave to him. If ever he’s a bit late to come home, I get worried. If he gets a headache, I panic. If fate today were to offer me in his place a man vastly learned and intelligent, and as rich and handsome as a god, I wouldn’t even look at him. And it’s not just the fetters of duty. Not by any means. It’s not conventional loyalty either. It’s just that something has happened to both of us, something that has made us co-dependent, like the moving parts of a machine which, through long use, has adapted to working together so perfectly that no new part, however well formed and beautiful, could ever replace them. We walk sure-footed along a familiar road, without fear, even without looking, because all its ups and downs and twists and turns are stored in our memory. Just imagine how difficult it would be to walk along some strange road! I would be scared all the time of losing my way at every step or of being robbed. In fact, today I don’t think that I even wish to exchange his faults for virtues.
Translated from the Urdu by M. Asaduddin
A Battle of Ideals
1
Mr Dayakrishna Mehta’s feet touched the earth no more. His ambition, his life’s sweetest dream, had been fulfilled. He had achieved the position which, for Indians, was heavenly bliss. The viceroy had appointed him a member of his executive council.
His friends dropped in to congratulate him. The festive spirit was everywhere: feasts thrown in his honour, congratulatory letters. It was not considered an individual achievement but a national one. Even the English authorities walked hand-in-hand with him.
Dayakrishna was a well-known barrister of Lucknow—large-hearted, politically adept and socially responsible. He was eternally involved in social activities. In the bureaucracy of the country, there was no one so detached or as outspokenly critical. Nor was there among the public anyone so astute, so trustworthy and so sympathetic.
There was a lot of activity in the newspapers regarding his appointment. One set of voices said—‘We cannot congratulate the government for this selection.’ Voices from the other side said—‘This is a supreme example of the generosity and social responsibility of the government.’ There was a third group, too, which, in a subdued voice, said—‘Another pillar of the empire has fallen.’
It was evening. A party for Dayakrishna was held at Kesar Park by the liberals! Important people from all over the region had gathered there. After dinner, the president said in his speech, ‘We are confident that your initiation into power will be beneficial for the masses, and that through your efforts, improvements will be made in those laws that are detrimental to the life of the nation.’
Dayakrishna answered, ‘The laws of the state are subject to contemporary situations. As long as there is no change in these situations, it would be illusory to expect progress in the legal system.’
The meeting got over. One group said, ‘How judicious and praiseworthy is the political system!’ Another party said, ‘He has fallen into the trap.’ The third party shook its head in disappointment but didn’t voice its opinion.
2
Dayakrishna had been in Delhi for a month now. It was a Phagun evening. He was seated on a velvet reclining chair near the pond in a corner of his garden. Mrs Rajeshwari Mehta was seated before him practising the piano and Miss Manorama was feeding biscuits to the fish in the pond. She asked her father, ‘Who is the gentleman that just dropped by?’
‘A military member of the council.’
‘He must be under the viceroy, right?’
‘All of us are under the viceroy. Our salaries are all equal but no one can aspire to his merits. Why, Rajeshwari, haven’t you noticed how gentle and well-mannered the English are?’
Rajeshwari said, ‘I consider him to be the very embodiment of courteousness. They are better than us in this aspect too. How lovingly his wife embraced me!’
Manorama was ecstatic. ‘I feel like falling at her feet.’
Dayakrishna added: ‘I have never seen anyone so noble, so refined, so sincere, so virtuous. Our laws of kindness exist only in name. It gives me great sorrow to realize that I have been suspicious of them for so long. In short, the complaints that we have against them are simply because of a lack of mutual interaction. We are not well-versed in each other’s character and nature.’
Rajeshwari averred, ‘We are in sore need of a union club where both groups can have the pleasure of each other’s company. It is the only means of dissipating misconceptions.’
Dayakrishna said, ‘I agree with you.’ He looked at the clock and continued, ‘It’s seven; time for the festivities of the business union. The Indians are in a peculiar state. They believe that an Indian member of the council is the representative of Indians and can work independently. They hope that he can overturn the laws of the incumbent regime and create a new sky and a new sun. They do not consider the limits within which such members function.’
‘But it’s hardly their fault. It is natural that people have all kinds of expectations from one of their own. Now that half the members of the council are Indians, won’t their decisions have any influence on the government’s laws?’
‘Of course they will. In fact, they are influencing laws. But a complete change in the laws is not possible. Even if all the members are Indians, new laws cannot be introduced. How can they forget that their membership in the council is dependent on the grace and trust of the government? Apart from that, once they get there and get to know the internal affairs, they realize that the majority of their concerns are unfounded. The responsibilities of the post also bear down heavily on them. While framing a new law, it is natural that doubts may arise in their minds as to whether or not it will meet the expectations of the people. Consequently, their independence is destroyed. They are wary of meeting those people who have been their accomplices but who, due to their lack of restraint, have become motes in the eyes of the government. They talk about justice and truth in their speeches and in spite of knowing that the laws of the government are injurious still voice their support of it. If they cannot do anything against the system, why would they voice their dissent and suffer shame? In situations like these, the only way is to save oneself through flattery. And the biggest problem is that saying anything against such gentle, generous, and knowledgeable people is like throttling humanity and good conduct. Oh, see, the car is here! Come on, people must have already assembled at the business meeting.’
When they reached the venue, they heard the sound of applause. The president had already read his address, the gist of which was that the government must protect the handicrafts that are liquidated in the face of national competition. For the economic uplift of the country, new factories must be opened and when they turn successful, they must be handed over to economic unions. It is also their responsibility to support those crafts which are still in their infancy so that the public can feel encouraged.
After thanking the president, Dayakrishna announced the industrial laws of the government by saying: ‘Your formulations are blameless. However, bringing them into practice is very complicated. The government may supply you with finances but taking forward the business initiative is the responsibility of the public. You must bear in mind the fact that even God helps only those who help themselves. You are lacking in self-confidence and business sense. Stretching out your hands before the government at each and every step shows
your inability.’
The next day, critiques of this speech were published. One party said, ‘Mr Mehta has very lucidly and unambiguously explained the laws of the government.’
The second group wrote, ‘We were stunned after reading Mr Mehta’s speech. The business council has taken the very path shown by Mr Mehta. He has proved the common saying, “Anything that enters a salt mine turns into salt.”’
The third group wrote, ‘We are totally in agreement with Mr Mehta on the point that we must not grovel before the government at every step. This speech must have opened the eyes of those who say that we must send our ablest men to the council. We feel sorry for the members of the business council who travelled from Kanpur to Delhi for a sermon about self-confidence.’
3
It was the month of Chait. Shimla had grown mellow. Dayakrishna was seated in his library reading when Rajeshwari came in and asked, ‘What kind of a letter is this?’
Dayakrishna replied, ‘This is a matter pertaining to business transactions. It will be produced in the council next week. I had and still have reservations about some of their propositions. Now, I do not understand how I can approve of them. See, three crore rupees have been earmarked for increasing the salaries of high officials. Already, the salaries of these officials are quite high. A further increment is unnecessary, but how do I bring these words to my tongue? All those who are to benefit from this are my daily acquaintances. Military expenses have gone up by twenty crore. When our armies are sent to foreign countries, it is judicious to assume our necessities will increase. However, if I make my opposition to this known, the council will point fingers at me.’
‘It is not right for you to keep quiet out of fear. Besides, if you do so, of what use is your being here?’
