by Premchand
3
Though the property was in my name, it was just a farce as Saeed was still in full control. The servants regarded him their master and would often behave insolently with me. I was passing my days with patience and forbearance. Why suffer when there are no desires left in the heart?
It was the rainy month of Saavan, a light drizzle was falling from the clouds above. The garden bore the darkness of longing, and the light of the glow-worms shining on the black-cloaked trees seemed to represent the burning embers of sorrowing souls. I gazed at this display of yearning for very long. The glow-worms would light up and turn off in unison, creating floods of light. I too felt the urge to sing on the swings. The weather can wield magic on despairing hearts. There was a summer house in the garden. I had a swing installed to the hook on the roof of the veranda and began to swing in it. I realized only today that yearning has its own spiritual delight which is unknown to fulfilled hearts. My overflowing mood made me burst out into a love song. The rainy season is symbolic of separation and sorrow. The song spoke of the agony of a pining heart so evocatively that my eyes began to well up with tears. Just then, I saw the flicker of a lantern outside. It was Saeed’s servant, entering through the back door. Following him was the same beauty, accompanied by Saeed. The beauty came up to me and said, ‘Today, there will be a joyous celebration here, where wine will flow.’ ‘Congratulations!’ I replied with contempt.
The beautiful woman said, ‘The musicians will be there. The tunes of bara maasa and malhar will soar in the skies.’
‘By all means,’ I replied. She said, ‘Jealousy will rip your breast open.’ Saeed told me, ‘Zubaida, go to your room. She is not in control of her senses at present.’
The beauty glared at me, her eyes bloodshot. ‘I don’t even regard you as the dust of my feet.’ I could take it no longer and retorted, ‘And what do I consider you to be? A bitch that goes around licking chewed bones?’
Saeed, too, changed his tune now. He gave me a murderous look and said, ‘Zubaida, has the devil possessed you?’
Saeed’s words pierced my heart. They tormented me. The lips that always spoke to me of love and affection were now spewing venom for no fault of mine. Have I become so low and worthless that even a whore can tease and abuse me and I’m forbidden to retaliate? All the anger that had been accumulating in my heart for the past year suddenly erupted. I got off the swing, and, eying Saeed accusingly, spoke, ‘The devil! Has he gotten into my head or yours? I will let you decide for yourself. Saeed, up until now, I had imagined you to be a decent and respectable person. I did feel sad about your unfaithfulness to me, but I could never imagine in my wildest dreams that you could be so shameless and so indecent that you would slight and humiliate me for a shameless woman like her. May God punish you for this.’
The beauty said aggressively, ‘You call me shameless?’
‘Of course I do.’
Saeed asked, ‘And I’m indecent?’
‘Without a doubt! Not only indecent, but also deceitful, hypocritical and insincere. These words may sound bitter but still fall short of conveying the extent of my anger.’
I was still making these statements when suddenly Saeed’s hefty servant caught hold of my arms, and, undoing the rope from the swing, the woman tightly wound me against one of the iron pillars in the veranda.
I can’t recall my thoughts at that time, but I had felt blinded, and it seemed that the threesome were not humans but the devils of hell. A feeling of terror had replaced the anger in my heart. Even if a supernatural agency had somehow freed me from the ropes and placed a dagger in my hands, I would have done nothing more than sit on the floor and weep at my helplessness at this gross insult. I began feeling that this was probably a curse inflicted on me by God. I was being punished for my neglect of observing namaz and fulfilling other religious requirements. I was trying to recall memories from the past to ascertain the possible sins I could have committed to earn this retribution.
Leaving me in this state the three evil figures went into the room. I had thought that they were done with punishing me, but would the trio keep me confined in this manner? What if the maids were to see me in this pitiable condition? No, I was no longer fit to stay in this house. I was trying to figure out a way to untie myself. But alas! Little did I know that my then deplorable state was just a prelude to further forthcoming cruelties! I was still ignorant of the murderous cruelty of which the weaker sex is capable. In my mind, I was arguing with myself about the extent to which I was responsible for my own degradation. Could I have prevented things coming to such a pass if I had not talked back when the woman spoke so hurtfully? They certainly would have. Like the proverbial female serpent, she had had every intention of stinging me. Which is why she had begun talking in such a stinging tone, so that I flew into a temper and accused her, providing her with an excuse to humiliate me.
It had begun to rain heavily. The showers had drenched me completely and it was pitch dark outside. I was straining my ears to catch a whiff of the conspiracy being hatched inside. The falling rain had blocked the sounds from being audible. Just then the lantern appeared in the veranda once more and the three horrid figures came and stood before me. This time the murderous fairy had a slim wooden cane in her hand. My blood froze seeing the expression on her face. Her eyes contained a bloodthirsty madness, teeming with frenzy. Giving me a dirty look, she said, ‘Begum Sahiba! I want to teach such a lesson to you for your sharp tongue that you won’t forget it all your life. My mentors have told me that there is no lesson as long-lasting as the one that the stick gives.’
Saying this, the torturing soul struck a heavy blow on my back with the stick. I reeled with pain. It seemed as if someone had placed a burning coal on my back. I could bear it no longer. My parents had never touched me with even a stick made of flowers. I began howling loudly. All my pride and sense of dignity vanished into thin air. The stark and frightening truth of the stick had destroyed all emotions. Probably, the hearts of those Hindu women who jump into the fire to save their honour are made of iron. All I could think of now was to save myself from this ordeal. Saeed stood there silent as a statue. I spoke with extreme humility, ‘Saeed, for God’s sake! Save me from this cruel woman. I beg you on my knees, poison me or cut my head off, but I don’t have the strength to bear this torment. Think back on your sweet, heart-caressing words. Think of my love for you and for its sake save me from this torture. God will reward you for this.’
Saeed seemed to relent a little at this. Giving the woman a disapproving look, he spoke, ‘Zarina, let her go now, since I ask you. Have mercy on her for my sake.’
Zarina replied, offended, ‘I can do anything for your sake, but I can’t tolerate words of abuse.’
‘Do you think the abuses have still not been suitably avenged?’
‘This is the value you place on my honour? I have even had queens serve me as menials. What does her ladyship think of herself? Even if I were to carve her up with a blunt knife, she would still not have got what she deserves for her foul tongue.’
‘I can’t bear to see this torture any longer.’
‘Close your eyes.’
‘Don’t irritate me, I say. It’s time you forgave her.’
Zarina looked at Saeed with the utmost scorn, as if he were her slave. God knows what kind of spell she had cast on him to deprive him of any sense of family honour, status and the sense of human worth. She probably didn’t regard him as capable of any manly rage at all. How wrong are those who claim to read character from the face! What cruelty and hard-heartedness under the guise of such beguiling charm? Doubtless, beauty is the enemy of physiognomy. She spoke, ‘Oh! So you’ve begun to get irritated with me now! And why not? After all, she is your legally wedded wife, while I am a shameless bitch!’
‘You taunt me. I really can’t stand the sight of blood.’
‘Here, then take this stick and give her a good hundred thrashes. My anger will cool down. That’s the only remedy.’
‘You’re joking again!’
‘I don’t joke.’
Saeed extended his hand to take the stick but Zarina didn’t trust him and dodged, thinking that he would probably break the stick and throw it away. She spoke, ‘Oh! So you’ll play tricks on me! Then let me show you my skill.’
Saying this, the inhuman creature began to beat me wildly. Writhing in pain, I was screaming, pleading with her profusely, begging her, asking for forgiveness, saying words of blessing for her, beseeching her to have mercy in the name of saints and prophets. But nothing had any effect on that murderous woman. And Saeed stood still like a figure carved from wood, watching this sad spectacle of pain and cruelty. And he stayed unmoved at the crying and wailing that would have moved even my worst enemy. My back was lacerated and bleeding profusely. Wounds were being inflicted. Every lash would fall like a burning rod on my body. I don’t know how many times she lashed me, to the extent that the stick itself took pity on me and split into two. The heart of the wooden stick burst with pity but the human heart refused to melt.
4
Having ruined and destroyed me in this manner the three evil souls left. Saeed’s servant untied me before leaving. But where could I have gone? How could I have stepped into that house?
My whole body was festering with wounds but the blisters in the heart were far more hurtful. My heart felt full of lacerations. No space remained for human compassion. I would have laughed to see a blind man falling into a well or pulled a face on hearing an orphan weep. The condition of my emotions had undergone a revolutionary change. To the extent that there was no desire for revenge either. I wasn’t angry or sad, nor did I want to die. Extreme humiliation had snuffed out even the wish to take revenge. Although I could have used the law to ensnare Saeed, this crushing insult and shame inflicted on me was beyond retaliation. Just one awareness remained and it was that of degradation. I had been degraded and demeaned forever. Could this stain possibly be washed off? Certainly not! Yes, but it could be concealed, and the only way to do this was that I jump into the very abyss of debasement. The dark blackness of my dress would conceal the darkness of the stain on my being. Isn’t the wilderness better than a home whose walls have crumbled? Isn’t the riverbed preferable to the boat which has a gaping hole in its bottom? The same applied to me in this state. I made up my mind to make my ruin more complete, heighten my debasement even further and make the blackness of my face shine brighter. I was determined, though unknowingly, to avenge Saeed emotionally. I lay there all night, alternatively moaning in pain and struggling with my thoughts. My originally weak decision gained strength with each passing moment. No one in the household cared to look me up. I emerged from the garden at dawn itself, having shed all the inhibitions I might have had earlier. What cares does one have for ponds and ditches after having dived into the ocean? I, who had earlier been shy of even the walls of the house, was walking through the lanes of the city without any hesitation, and where to? There where infamy is valued. Where there is no one to scoff at you and the market of bad names flourishes. Where modesty is on sale and where the sense of shame is destroyed.
On the very third day, I was looking at the sights and sounds of the bazaar before me, seated in a prominent part of the flesh market on a high balcony. It was evening, there was a milling crowd below, people jostled against each other as they walked. Today was the day of the monsoon fair. Groups of people were heading towards the river dressed in their best clothes. The priceless items of our bazaar too were adorning the riverbanks. At one place some pretty women, who were also rather brash, played on swings; at another place some of them sang the folk songs of the rainy season. I found the excursion of this bazaar most pleasurable from the banks of the river. It seemed as if all the other highways of the city were closed and just this narrow street was open. And everyone’s eyes were fixed on the balcony as if they were flying in the air and not walking on the ground. Yes, the cultured among them did not have such unreserved airs. They stared too, but their glances were sidelong. It was the middle-aged men who were the most unabashed. Perhaps they desired to flaunt a fire that only youth has. It was less a bazaar and more a theatre. People would crack jokes, not for their personal enjoyment but to show off before the pretty women. Though they would look in one direction, their words were directed somewhere else. It was an assembly of mimes and clowns.
Suddenly, Saeed’s phaeton appeared. I had ridden in it so often. Pleasantly dressed, Saeed sat erect in it. The town couldn’t boast of a more well turned out and handsome man, so full of manly and virile youthfulness. He raised his glance once towards me and dropped his gaze after that. The blood left his face as if a snake had stung him dead. He said something to the coachman and the phaeton soon vanished. The pleasure I experienced on seeing him at that time reduced the pain and suffering of that terrible night to nothing. I had humiliated him in my own humiliation. This dagger was certainly sharper than any stick. He dared not look me in the eye again. No. I had caged him and condemned him to lifelong imprisonment. It was impossible for him to escape this solitary confinement because of his prideful feelings for his family honour.
The news came early the next morning. Someone had murdered Mirza Saeed. His body had been found in the summer house of the garden. He had been shot in the chest. The next piece of news came at nine. Zarina, too, had been murdered that night. Her head had been severed from her body. Later, investigations revealed that it was Saeed who had carried out both the killings. He had killed Zarina first in her own house, after which he had come home and shot himself in the chest. This typically masculine sense of honour revived the love in my heart for Saeed.
I returned home that evening. It had barely been four days since I had left it but it seemed as if it had been ages. The entire place had an air of yearning hanging over it. Saeed’s smiling countenance rose before my eyes involuntarily as I stepped into the house. A sigh escaped my lips. It was not that I was grieving over Saeed’s suicide, for I could never forgive his criminal insensitivity and masculine woman-chasing till even doomsday. What I regretted was the fact that the craze for this woman had got the better of him. I can judge by the condition of my heart at present that the wounds of Saeed’s infidelity and cruelty will heal in due course, and I might even forget about my gross humiliation. What will remain, however, is the mark of his short-lived love, which is now the sole anchor of my life.
Translated from the Urdu by Baran Farooqi
The Bookbinder
1
In my office, there was a bookbinder named Rafaqat Hussain. His salary was ten rupees per month. He could also earn two or three rupees extra doing odd jobs. This was his total income and he was content with what he had. I don’t know what his actual financial condition was, but he always wore neat and clean clothes and looked happy. Debt is normally an integral part of the life of people belonging to this category, but Rafaqat escaped its magic spell. There was no trace of artificial politeness in his way of talking. He was forthright in his views. If he saw any fault in his colleagues, he would point it out to them in a direct manner as he was very straightforward. Thanks to his straightforwardness, he earned much more respect than the people of this status normally get. He had a deep affection for animals. He owned a mare, a cow, a cat, a dog, many goats, and a few hens which he loved more than anything else. Every morning, he would get green leaves for the goats and grass for the horse. Although he had to visit the animal shelter almost every day, his love for his pets never diminished. People used to make fun of his love for animals, but he never paid any heed to what they said. His love for the pets was selfless. Nobody saw him selling the eggs laid by his hens. He never sold any of his goats to the butchers. His mare was never bridled. The cow’s milk was consumed by his dog. The goats’ milk was meant for the cat. Rafaqat would drink only the leftover milk.
Luckily, his wife was a virtuous woman. Although her house was very small, no one ever heard her voice outside the house nor saw her standing at her doorstep. She
never gave her husband sleepless nights by demanding jewellery or clothes. The bookbinder worshipped her. She would collect cow dung, feed grass to the mare, and make the cat eat sitting next to her. She loved the animals so much that she did not mind giving a bath to the dog.
2
One day, during the rainy season, when the rivers were in spate, Rafaqat’s colleagues went fishing. Poor Rafaqat also accompanied them. The whole day, they enjoyed fishing. In the evening, when it started raining heavily, Rafaqat’s colleagues decided to spend the night in a village, but Rafaqat left for his home. As it was very dark, he lost his way and kept wandering the whole night. When he finally reached his house in the morning, it was still dark but the door of the house was wide open. His dog came towards him moaning and lay down at his feet. A shiver ran down his spine on seeing the door wide open. Inside, it was unusually quiet. He called his wife twice or thrice, but there was no response. There was a ghastly silence. He checked both the rooms and did not find her. Finally, he went to his stable trembling with an unknown fear as if he was entering a dark cave. In the stable, he saw his wife lying on her back. Her face was covered with flies. Her lips had turned blue and her eyes had turned into stone. The symptoms indicated that she had died of a snakebite.
The next day, when Rafaqat came to his office, it was difficult to recognize him. He looked as though he had been sick for many years. Completely lost, he sat in the office as if he was in a different world. In the evening, he got up and went straight to his wife’s grave and sat there in the light of an earthen lamp till midnight as if waiting for his own death. God only knows when he returned home. From that day onwards, he would go to the graveyard every morning, sweep his wife’s grave, place garlands of flowers on it, light some incense sticks and recite the Koran till nine o’clock. In the evening, he would repeat the same rituals. This had become his daily routine. He was now living in his own world. The outside world did not exist for him.
