by Premchand
His wife asked, ‘What about your breakfast?’
Sethji shouted, ‘No, I won’t have it.’
‘And your evening meal?’
‘We’ll see about it on my return.’
2
Sethji had loaned five rupees to a farmer. That wretch hadn’t paid any interest in the past six months. He hadn’t turned up with any gifts either. His house was no less than three miles away. So, Sethji had been postponing his visit. Today, he decided to visit that same village. He wouldn’t rest without collecting his amount. He could cry and whimper as much as he wanted, but walking such a long distance was itself blameworthy. People would say, ‘Big name and a small sight. Calls himself a seth and travels by foot.’ So, he would walk at a sluggish pace, look hither and yon, and talk with the wayfarers so that people would think that he was out there on a walk, to have a whiff of fresh air.
Suddenly he saw an empty ekka going that way. The ekkawala asked him, ‘Why, Lala, where do you want to go?’
Sethji replied, ‘I don’t have to go far; it’s just a few steps away. But come, let me have a seat.’
The ekkawala looked at Sethji with piercing eyes. Sethji too stared at him with his round eyes. Each of them understood that the other was a hard nut to crack.
The ekka started. Sethji struck the first blow: ‘Where do you live, Miyan Sahib?’
‘Where do I live? My home is wherever I go. My house was, when it was. Now I’m homeless, without any worth, and the biggest thing is that even fate has made me helpless. It has left me tailless. My grandfather was an administrator and collector of revenues of a brothel during the Nawabi period. Huzoor, he was the proprietor of seven districts. He would’ve blown up anyone in front of the canon or would have had anyone hanged to death. Huzoor, he would donate lakhs of rupees even before the sunrise. Nawab Sahib treated him like his own brother. Those were the days then, and these are the days now, when we are serving you. It’s just a matter of a change in fortunes.’
As soon as he shook hands, Sethji knew that he was a confirmed braggart, a seasoned campaigner. It would be difficult to get the better of him. But now the brawl had been fixed; he had entered the arena. He said, ‘Then why don’t you simply say that you come from a noble family? Your very face bears witness to that. Brother, it’s only a question of time; all days never turn out to be the same. At our place, Lakshmi is considered flighty and is always on the move; today to my house, tomorrow to yours. Your grandfather must have left you quite a bit of money?’
The ekkawala replied, ‘Arré, Sethji, there was no accounting for that wealth! I don’t know how many basements were filled with it. Gold and silver were stacked in sacks while the jewels were lumped into baskets. The glitter was such as would outshine the lamps. But fate too is something, isn’t it? Here my grandfather passed away, there the Nawabi was destroyed. The entire treasure was ransacked. People loaded their carts with jewels and went away. Still there was so much left that my father lived his whole life in luxury—the luxury that a fool can only dream of. He would go out in a palanquin carried by sixteen attendants. Servants with staves in their hands would scamper around him, both in front and behind. Still he left quite a bit for my subsistence. Had I lived prudently, I would’ve been well off today. But a rich man’s son will always live like one. I would get out of bed only after consuming a bottle of liquor. For nights together, there would be gatherings with courtesans singing and dancing. Who knew that I’d suffer for it in this way?’
Sethji said, ‘Thank the Almighty, brother, that you at least look after your family with honesty. Otherwise there are so many of our brothers who commit misdeeds day and night and still they want for every grain of food. Religion should be upheld, else everyone is able to live out his days. What difference does it make if you spend them eating milk and bread or chewing dry grams? Religion is the bigger thing. As soon as I saw your face I knew that you were a man of true and noble intentions. When people are unscrupulous, it’s written all over their faces.’
The ekkawala said, ‘You are right, Sethji, that everything is in order if religion is upheld. I get four paise from people like you with which I feed my family. Huzoor, just look at the other ekkawalas; someone is afflicted with a sickness of one kind, while someone else is beset with a disease of another kind. But I’ve repented. Why should we do such a thing as can lead us to trouble? I’ve a big family. Huzoor, there is my mother, my children, several widows and all my earnings come from this ekka. Still, the good Lord looks after us somehow or the other.’
Seth: ‘He orchestrates everything, Khan Sahib. There will always be plentifulness in your earnings.’
Ekkawala: ‘I just need the generosity of people like you.’
Seth: ‘You need God’s generosity. It’s good that I met you. I am very scared of ekkawalas but now I know that there are good as well as bad people everywhere. I’ve never seen as honest and religious a person as you until now. What a pure disposition you’ve got. I truly appreciate it.’
Hearing Sethji’s flattering words, the ekkawala understood, This gentleman is a past master at talking. He only wants to cheat me through flattery. Now I should use some other angle to serve my ends. It’s difficult to get anything out of his generosity; perhaps I’ll be able to get something out of his fear. He said, ‘But Lala, don’t think that I’m as righteous and straightforward as I appear to be. I’m righteous only with the good samaritans but with the bad ones I am a veritable scoundrel. I can serve you obsequiously. But when it comes to the fare, I don’t allow any concessions to anyone. If I did, what would I eat?’
Sethji had thought that he had won over the ekkawala through flattery. Now the journey would smoothly come to an end and that too free of charge. But when he heard these words, his ears pricked up. He said, ‘Brother, even I don’t allow any concessions when it’s a question of money. But sometimes, when it’s a matter of friendship, one has to give in, no matter how reluctantly. You too must have been forced to cave in at times. Friends can’t be treated harshly.’
The ekkawala dropped a brick. ‘I’m not considerate towards anyone. No teacher ever taught me lessons in benevolence. I’m a stubborn one of my own kind. Who would dare to hold back even a paisa from me? What do I care about others when I don’t even give my own wife a penny? The other ekkawalas cajole their moneylenders and wait for them at their doors. But I wouldn’t even spare the moneylenders and would drive them away lightly. Everyone shudders when they hear my name. I borrow money from them and digest it, plain and simple. Now I’ll see how you recover your debts, smart one! File a lawsuit if you want. What’s there in the house anyway that you can cart off!’
Sethji felt as though he was coming down with fever. He understood, this devil won’t let me off without getting his fare. Had he known that this trouble was close at hand, he wouldn’t have set foot on the ekka even unwittingly. It wasn’t as if his legs would’ve been fractured by walking such a short distance. If I’ll have to shell out money like this every day, then this debt collection will be in a shambles.
Sethji was a devout being. From the time that he reached the age of reason, not a day went by when he didn’t offer his prayers to Lord Shiva. Won’t Lord Shiva, who is so fond of his devotees, come to my rescue on this occasion? Remembering his favourite deity, he said, ‘Khan Sahib, you may not yield before anyone but one has to cave in before the police. They aren’t benevolent towards anyone.’
The ekkawala burst out laughing and said, ‘Never. On the contrary, I exact some amount or the other from them. Whenever I find a victim, I seat him immediately at a lower rate and take him to the police station. I not only get a fare but my reward too. Who can dare to object? I don’t even have a licence. But I merrily drive my ekka through the market. No bastard can utter even a word before me. I earn quite a bit at fairs and among big crowds. I pick out the best men and take them to the police station. Who is ever able to serve his interests at the police station? They can hold whosoever they want—for one day,
two days, three days—how does it matter? There are twenty pretexts to do so. If it’s a man, they claim it’s suspected that he eloped with a certain woman, and if it’s a woman, they contend that she has run away from her in-laws in a fit of anger. Who can say anything then? The Sahib too couldn’t walk out of it if he wanted to. Don’t think that I’m straightforward. I’m a son of a bitch of my own kind. I don’t fix my fares beforehand. Rather, I exact twice the amount that is fair on reaching the destination. If they make so much as a squeak, I roll up my sleeves, change my tack and stand before them. Then who can dare to stand up to me?’
Sethji was appalled. True, he had a stick in his hand but he didn’t have the nerve to use it. Today he had been trapped badly. Who knows whose inauspicious face he must have seen while leaving his house? Even now all was not lost—if he could step down here and save whatever he could, that would still be better. Like a wet cat, he said, ‘Fair enough, Khan Sahib, stop now for we’ve reached my village. Tell me, how much should I pay you?’
The ekkawala whipped his horse once more and said, ‘Brother, consider how much I’ve earned. Had I not seated you, I could have taken three passengers. All of them would’ve have given me four annas each, which makes it twelve. I’ll settle with you for eight.’
Sethji was dumbstruck. In his entire life he had never paid so much for a ride. He could never pay such a fare for a short distance like this. There are occasions in a man’s life when he doesn’t care about the consequences. For Sethji, this was indeed such an occasion. Had it been a question of an anna or two, he would have given it, albeit reluctantly. But for eight annas, which is half a rupee, he was prepared for not only a dispute but even a scuffle. Having resolved thus, he kept sitting firmly in his place.
Suddenly they saw a hut at the edge of the road. The ekka stopped, Sethji stepped down, took out a two-anna coin from the knot in his dhoti and tossed it at the ekkawala.
The ekkawala looked at Sethji’s gesture and understood that the situation had taken an unfavourable turn. The sweetness of his efforts had turned sour. He now clenched his teeth. Responding to Sethji in a similar manner was the only solace. He said politely, ‘Take it as a present from me to buy sweetmeats for your kids. May God bless you.’
Sethji took out another anna and said, ‘That’s it. Don’t wag your tongue any more. I won’t give even a cowrie more.’
The ekkawala replied, ‘No master, how will our poor children be fed if people like you say such things? Huzoor, we too can see through people.’
In the meantime, a woman wearing a pink sari, and with paan in her mouth, came out from the hut and said, ‘You’re quite late today.’ Suddenly she saw Sethji and said, ‘Oh, so this morning you had Lalaji as your passenger. Why should you be in such a mood, then? You must have got a coin. Give it to me right now.’
Saying this, she went near Sethji and said, ‘Sit comfortably on the cot, Lala. It’s our good fortune that we caught a glimpse of you early in the morning.’
A pleasant fragrance came from her clothes. Sethji’s mind was rejuvenated. He winked at her. The woman was playful, curvaceous and quick-witted. The image of his wife appeared before him—hideous, portly and cloddish, with chilblains (plural) on her feet and her clothes reeking of a foul smell. Sethji wasn’t of an amorous disposition in the least but now he had been defeated by his eyes. Trying to take his eyes off her, he sat on the cot. He was still a mile away from his destination but had completely forgotten about it.
The woman picked up a small fan and began waving it over Sethji. With every movement of her hand, a waft of fragrance would come and intoxicate him.
Sethji had never experienced such exuberance in his life. Often people would look at him with disgust. But today his entire body had been rejuvenated. He tried to snatch the fan from her hand.
‘You are having trouble. Come, give it to me. I’ll do the fanning.’
‘What are you saying, Lalaji? You’ve come to our house as a guest. Won’t you allow us to extend this hospitality towards you? What else are we capable of? Do you have to go far this way? It’s quite late now. Where will you go?’
Sethji turned away his evil eyes, restrained his roguish thoughts and said, ‘There is a village not far from here. I have to go there. I’ll return in the evening by this same way.’
Delighted, the beauty said, ‘In that case, you can stay here tonight. Where will you go anyway in the evening? For once you can enjoy outside your house. Who knows when we’ll meet again?’
The ekkawala came close and whispered in Sethji’s ears, ‘Give me some money so that I can arrange for some snacks.’
Sethji quietly took out an eight-anna coin and gave it to him. The ekkawala asked again, ‘Should I fetch some sweets for you? Though there won’t be any sweets here that can match your taste, they’ll be able to sweeten your mouth.’
Sethji replied, ‘There’s no need to get any sweets for me, though you can bring sweets for the children with this four-anna piece.’
Taking out a four-anna coin, Sethji threw it before the ekkawala as though it didn’t hold any value for him. He wanted to see the expression on the woman’s face but was apprehensive lest she think that he was giving the coin as though he was quoting someone’s price.
The ekkawala picked up the coin and was leaving when his wife said, ‘Return Sethji’s coin. You just grabbed it. Aren’t you ashamed? Take this rupee from me and get fresh sweets worth eight annas.’
She took out a rupee and tossed it on the floor. Sethji was buried in shame. How could he bear to see an ekkawala’s wife, who was not even worth a farthing, be so hospitable that she would part with a whole rupee? He said, ‘No, no, this can’t be. You keep your rupee.’ Satiating his lustful eyes, he said, ‘I’ll give a rupee. Take this and buy sweets worth eight annas.’
When the ekkawala left to arrange for the sweets and snacks, the woman said to Sethji, ‘He’ll be here in a while, Lala. Meanwhile, you can at least have this paan.’
Sethji looked hither and yon and said, ‘But there is no paan shop around here.’
The woman gave him a wounded look. ‘Will paan prepared by me be worse than those of the shops?’
Embarrassed, Sethji said, ‘No, no, it’s not that. You are a Muslim, aren’t you?’
The woman replied with playful insistence, ‘Now that you say so, I swear to God that I won’t rest till I’ve fed you a paan myself.’
Saying so, she took out a betel leaf from the paan box and advanced towards Sethji. For a minute Sethji pretended compliance. Then he stretched out both his hands, trying to push her away. Next he shut his lips tightly. But when the woman remained unrelenting, Sethji ran frantically to preserve his dharma. His forgot his stick on the cot. He stopped after having run about twenty steps, and said panting, ‘Look, you shouldn’t attack somebody’s dharma like that. Our dharma will be sullied if we so much as drink water served by you.’
The woman chased him again. Sethji too ran again. In these fifty years, he had never been forced to run like this. His dhoti came undone and started slipping off. But who had the leisure to tie it up again? The poor fellow was running with the burden of dharma on his shoulders. He didn’t realize when the money bag slipped from the knot at his waist. When he stopped again after another fifty steps and pulled up his dhoti, he realized that his purse was missing. He turned back and looked. The woman held the purse in her hands, showed it to him and beckoned to him to come back. But dharma was dearer to Sethji than money itself. He walked another couple of steps or so, but then stopped again.
Suddenly his religious discretion, or perhaps his common sense, chastised him, You’re deserting your dharma for a few rupees. He would collect a lot of money again. But where on earth would he find his dharma again?
Thinking so, he went on his way like a dog mauled amidst hostile adversaries, fleeing with its tail between its legs. Time and again, he would stop to turn back and see if those devils were coming after him.
Translated from the Hi
ndi by Shailendra Kumar Singh
1 ‘Munshi Premchand ki Kahani Unki Zubani’ in Zamana (Premchand Number), 1938. Reprinted by National Council for Promotion of Urdu Language, July 2002, p.54.
2 ‘Premchand ki Afsana Nigari’, Zamana: Premchand Issue, February 1938; rpt. National Council for Promotion of Urdu (New Delhi, 2002), p. 173.
1 In the Hindi story, Mirza Sajjad Ali’s maid is named Hariya while in the Urdu story, she is named Abbasi.
2 In the name of Imam Husain, who was killed by the forces of Yezid in the battle of Karbala. Shias are accustomed to taking oaths in his name.
1 Refers to both, the fifteenth century saint poet Kabir and his bhajans.
2 Songs sung during Holi.
Notes
The Game of Chess
Published in Hindi as ‘Shatranj ke Khiladi’ in Madhuri (October 1924), and later included in Mansarovar 3 (1938). In Urdu, it was published as ‘Shatranj ki Baazi’ in Zamana (December 1924), and included later in the collection, Khwab-o Khayal (1928). Now available in Kulliyaat-e Premchand 11 (2001).
The Urdu story is longer and different from the Hindi one in tone and tenor. Whole sentences appear in the Urdu version that do not appear at all in Hindi. This is particularly true in the case of the narrative rather than dialogue passages, and in places where Premchand expresses his disapproval of Lucknow’s decadence. Moreover, in the Hindi story, the writer uses a lot of Sanskrit vocabulary that leads to a distancing effect and an effective use of irony. The Urdu story is more elaborate and detailed, and more strident in the denunciation of the royalty for its failure to arrest the rot that had set in. Moral indignation is clear and unequivocal in the Urdu story, while in the Hindi story it is suggestive.
