by Premchand
3
He remained in this state for several months. His colleagues sympathized with him. They did his work and avoided troubling him. People marvelled at his love for his wife. But a human being cannot live in his own world forever. The climate of that world does not suit him. Where in that world can one find such enchanting and pleasurable emotions? Resignation cannot bring ecstasy and joy filled with hope. The bookbinder would generally remain in his own world till midnight, but ultimately, he had to come out of that world and prepare dinner for himself and in the morning he had to take care of his pets. This work was an unbearable burden for him. Circumstances won over his emotions. Like a thirsty wayfarer in a desert, the bookbinder ran towards the mirage of conjugal pleasures. He wanted to see again that delightful show of life. The memory of his wife started fading against his strong desire of experiencing marital pleasures once again, so much so that there remained not the slightest sign of her memory after six months.
At the other end of his mohalla lived his office’s peon, from whose family Rafaqat got a marriage proposal. He was extremely happy. The peon’s status in the colony was no less than that of a lawyer. People made several attempts to guess his income. He himself used to say that when the government gave money to farmers to help them buy seeds, he had to keep a huge bag with him as his pockets were not big enough to hold his extra earnings. The bookbinder thought that fortune was finally smiling on him. He at once grabbed the offer the way children grab toys. All the marriage rituals were performed within a week and the new bride came home. A person who had lost all hope and was disenchanted with the whole world just a week back was sitting today on a horse with a wedding wreath on his head, looking like a new flower in bloom. It was a strange manifestation of human nature.
Before the week was over the new bride started showing her true colours. The Almighty had not blessed her with great beauty but to compensate the lack of it, He had given her a razor-sharp tongue to humiliate her husband and entertain her neighbours. For eight days, she minutely studied Rafaqat’s behaviour and then told him, ‘You are a strange creature. People keep animals for their comforts and not to make life miserable. Why do you let the dog drink the cow’s milk and why let the cat drink the goats’ milk? From today onwards, the milk must be brought home.’
The bookbinder couldn’t say anything. The next day, he stopped giving gram to his mare. His wife would parch the gram and eat it with green chillies and salt. Every morning, she would drink fresh milk with her breakfast and make tasmai almost every day. As she belonged to a rich family, it was not possible for her to live without betel leaves. The consumption of ghee and spices increased in the house. In the first month itself, the bookbinder felt that his income was not enough to support his family. His condition was like a person who consumes quinine thinking it to be sugar.
The bookbinder was an extremely pious man. For two or three months, he endured that frightful pain. His face expressed his agony more than his words. He, who had been cheerful even in the most dire circumstances earlier, was now misery personified. Wearing dirty clothes, with dishevelled hair and an expression of deep sadness on his face, he lamented day and night. His cow had turned into a skeleton. His mare had become so weak that she was unable to move. Even the sneeze of a neighbour could scare his cat. The dog could be seen chewing on the bones picked from the garbage. Despite all that, this brave man did not leave his old friends. The biggest problem was his wife’s sharp tongue due to which he sometimes lost his patience and his enthusiasm. He would often cry bitterly sitting in the corner of a dark room. Finding it difficult to be content with what he had, his broken heart took the path of extravagance. His self-esteem, which is a reward for being content with what one has, disappeared. He had to starve on many days. Now, he did not have a pot for storing water. In fact, he wanted to draw water from his well and drink it immediately so that it did not go waste. He was no longer satisfied with cold water and dry bread. He would get biscuits from the market and crave milk, cream and mangoes of good quality. How long can ten rupees last? He would spend all his salary in one week and then look for orders for bookbinding from private clients. Then, he would spend one or two days fasting, and after that he would start borrowing money. Slowly, the situation became so bad that from the first day of the month, he would start borrowing. Earlier, he used to advise others to spend sparingly. Now, others persuaded him to economize but he would say carelessly, ‘Dear, let me eat what I am getting today, leave tomorrow to God. If I get something to eat tomorrow, I will eat, otherwise I will sleep hungry.’ His condition was like a patient’s who, after losing hope in medical treatments, stops exercising restraint on diet, and wants to eat as many goodies as he can before his death.
But he had not yet sold his mare and cow. One day, they were sent to the animal shelter. The goats also became victims of Rafaqat’s extravagance. Due to his addiction to luxury foods, he owed money to the baker. When the latter felt that Rafaqat would not pay his outstanding dues, he took away all his goats while the bookbinder looked on helplessly. The cat, too, turned her back on him. In fact, after the departure of the cow and the goats, she didn’t have any hope to get even a drop of milk, which was the last thread of love between her and her master. But, yes, the dog was still loyal to him owing to the good treatment he had received from him in the past. He had lost all his energy. He was no longer the same dog that never let any unknown person or a dog enter his master’s house. He still barked but without moving and with his head tucked under his chest. It was as though he was cursing his fate.
4
One evening, I was reading a letter sitting near the entrance of my house. I suddenly saw the bookbinder coming towards me. A farmer would not be as scared to see a peon bringing a summons and a child would not be as scared to see a doctor as I was scared to see Rafaqat. I got up quickly and wanted to go inside the house and close the door, but the bookbinder was already there in front of me. It was not possible to escape. I sat on the chair, frowning, knowing very well why he had come. In fact, it is very easy to guess from his facial expression the intention of a person wanting to borrow money from you. He shows an unusual politeness and shyness which, once seen, can never be forgotten.
Without beating around the bush, the bookbinder told me the purpose of his visit.
I said rudely, ‘I don’t have money.’
The bookbinder bid me goodbye and left immediately. He looked so distressed and helpless that I felt sorry for him. The way he left without saying anything was so meaningful. It exhibited a deep sense of shame and remorse. He did not say a word but his face said a lot of things: ‘I knew you would give this reply. I did not have any doubt about it. Despite that, I came here. I don’t know why. Perhaps your kindness, your affection brought me here. Now I am going. I have no moral right to share my pain with you.’
I called the bookbinder, ‘Come here. What’s wrong? Why do you want to borrow money?’
The bookbinder saw a ray of hope. He said, ‘What can I say? We have starved for the last two days.’
I advised him very politely, ‘How long can you run your house by borrowing money like this? You are a sensible person. You know that everybody is worried about themselves. Nobody has extra money to spare. And even if somebody has, why should he get into trouble by lending money to someone. Why don’t you try to improve your condition?’
The bookbinder said nonchalantly, ‘It’s all due to destiny. What else can I say? Things which I buy for the whole month last only a day. I am helpless before my wife’s gluttony. If she doesn’t get milk for one day, she will make a scene. If I don’t bring her sweets from the market, she will make my life miserable. If I don’t get meat for her, she will eat my flesh. I come from a respectable family. I can’t afford to have a fight with my wife over matters related to food. I immediately get her whatever she wants. I pray to God for my death. I don’t see any other way out. I have tried everything but without any success.’
I took out five rupees f
rom my box and, handing it over to him, said, ‘This is a reward for your self-respect. I did not know that you were so large-hearted and courageous.’
A person who endures family conflicts is in no way less brave than a soldier who fights on battlefields.
Translated from the Hindi by Faizullah Khan
Atmaram
1
In Vedon village, the goldsmith Mahadev was a well-known man. From morning till evening he could be heard tapping away at his smithy in his veranda. People had grown so used to hearing this sound that if, for some reason, it stopped, it would seem as if something had gone missing. It was his routine every morning to carry his parrot Atmaram in its cage to the pond as he sang a bhajan. To a stranger, the sight of his emaciated body, toothless mouth and bent back in the misty light of the morn could easily be mistaken for that of a ghost! However, the moment people heard the chant of ‘Sat gurudutt Shivdutt daata’1, it had the effect of a cock’s crow and they immediately understood that it was morning.
Mahadev did not have a happy family life. He had three sons, three daughters-in-law and dozens of grandchildren, but there was no one to lighten his burden. The sons believed in making merry while the old man lived; after him they would have to submit to the yoke of work. Poor Mahadev would sometimes even go without food. At mealtimes there would be such a hue and cry for one’s share of food that he would leave without eating anything and go off to sleep after having dragged away at his coconut-shell hookah. His professional life was even more strife-ridden. Even though he was skilful at his work, and his processes were rigorous and his chemical procedures painstaking, he had to put up with the harsh words of suspicious and impatient customers. However, Mahadev would hear them out with an unruffled profundity, his head bent at work. As soon as the quarrel subsided, he would turn his head towards the parrot and say ‘Sat gurudutt Shivdutt daata’. The chanting of this mantra would fill him with utter peace.
2
Once, by chance, a boy opened the door of the cage and the parrot flew out. When Mahadev raised his head to look at the cage, the parrot had disappeared! Alarmed, Mahadev rose and started looking for it over the tiled roof. If there was one thing he loved in the world, it was the parrot. He was quite fed up with his sons and grandchildren. The boys’ playfulness hindered his work and there was no love lost for his sons. This was not because they were good for nothing but that they would deprive him of his quota of liquor. His neighbours, too, he found irritating because they would take away the fire from his furnace. If there was any solace from these impediments it was the parrot! It did not trouble him at all. He was at an age when peace of mind was all that he desired.
The parrot had settled on a tiled roof. Mahadev brought the cage along and showed it to the parrot, chanting ‘Sat gurudutt Shivdutt daata’. By then the boys of the village had gathered and were screaming and clapping. Even the crows were cawing incessantly. The parrot flew outside the village to sit on a tree. Mahadev ran after him, empty cage in hand. People were surprised at his agility. One could not imagine a more beautiful, lively and moving picture of a man chasing his desire.
It was afternoon and the farmers were returning from the fields. They found in it an opportunity for some fun. Everybody loved to tease Mahadev. Some threw stones, some clapped. The parrot took flight once again and entered the mangrove, where it alighted at the very top of a tree. Mahadev, too, leapt like a frog behind it, empty cage in hand. By the time he reached the mangrove the soles of his feet were on fire and his head was spinning. As soon as he recovered his breath, he picked up the cage again and began, ‘Sat gurudutt Shivdutt daata . . .’ The parrot descended to a lower branch but looked at Mahadev sceptically. Mahadev understood that it was scared. He put the cage down and hid behind a tree. The parrot looked around, and once assured, flew down to sit on the cage. Mahadev’s heart somersaulted and he began to chant ‘Sat gurudutt Shivdutt daata’, inching towards the parrot. As he reached out to grab the parrot, it eluded his grasp and flew away to sit atop a tree!
This continued till evening. The parrot sat on this branch, then another. Sometimes it would sit on the cage or peep in to look at its feed in the bowls and then fly away. If the old man was desire incarnate, the parrot was an epitome of illusion. This battle between desire and illusion faded into darkness.
3
Then it was night and pitch darkness engulfed everything. The parrot was perhaps hidden among the leaves. Mahadev knew that the parrot would not fly away elsewhere in the night nor would it enter the cage; even then he refused to budge. He had not eaten anything the whole day. It was well past dinner time and he had not even had a drop of water, but he was neither hungry nor thirsty. Without the parrot, life appeared meaningless, barren and lonesome to him. He worked day and night because it was his calling; the other chores of his life were a matter of habit with him. In performing these tasks he had never experienced the slightest trace of liveliness. The parrot was the only thing that made him feel truly alive. Losing it was like the soul giving up the body. Mahadev, who had remained hungry and thirsty the whole day, would grow tired and doze off every now and then. But the very next moment he would jerk his eyes open and in the vast darkness his voice could be heard uttering ‘Sat gurudutt Shivdutt daata’.
It was past midnight when he was startled by the sound of some movement. He saw a dim lamp burning at the bottom of a tree and some men conversing around it. The smell of tobacco made him restless and with a loud incantation of ‘Sat gurudutt Shivdutt daata’ he made his way to the men to share their chillum. However, just as a deer bolts at the sound of a bullet, all the men too ran away as they heard him approach. Mahadev began screaming, ‘Hold on! Wait!’ It suddenly struck him that they might be thieves and so he began shouting loudly, ‘Robbers! Thieves! Catch them! Get them!’ As Mahadev went near the lamp, he found a rust-blackened urn and his heart began to throb with anticipation. He put his hand inside the urn and found coins. He took one out and peered at it in the light of the lamp. Oh yes! It was a gold coin! He immediately picked up the urn, blew out the lamp and hid under the tree. From a respectable man he had become a thief in that one instant.
Then he began to fear, ‘What if they come back and, on finding me alone, snatch away the coins?’ He took a few coins and tucked them into his waistband. Then he picked up a stick to dig several holes into the ground and filled them up with coins, covering them with mud.
4
In his mind’s eye, Mahadev beheld a different world now, replete with desires and apprehensions. Even though the fear of losing the urn was still imminent, the desires had begun their work. A well-constructed house, a large goods store, reestablishing ties with kin, the accumulation of all the luxuries of life! Then he would set off on a pilgrimage and upon his return hold a prayer assembly and a feast for the Brahmins! A temple, a well and a garden, too, were added to the picture. Every day he would have the holy books read out to him and be venerated as a saint!
Suddenly, it struck him—if the thieves came back, would he be able to run? He decided to test himself by picking up the urn and running exceedingly fast for two hundred steps. It seemed to him as if he had grown wings! All his anxieties were laid to rest. The night was spent weaving dreams. Dawn broke, the wind stirred and the birds began to sing. At once Mahadev heard: ‘Sat gurudutt Shivdutt daata, Ram ke charan mein chitt laaga.’
This chant had been on his lips forever. These words were pronounced by him a thousand times but their deep religious sentiment had never touched his inner core. Just as an instrument would produce sound, so would he articulate these words—meaningless and ineffectual. His heart had been like a leafless, barren tree and the gentle breeze of these words had not produced any music. But now this tree had sprung leaves and branches, and the breath of these words had it resonating with music.
At sunrise, when Nature was steeped in a rosy hue, the parrot flew back into its cage just like a star falling from the sky. Mahadev rejoiced and addressed the parrot thus, ‘Come,
Atmaram, you gave me a lot of trouble but you also brought me luck. I’ll keep you in a silver cage and gild it with gold.’ Every particle of his being sang praises of the Almighty. ‘O God! How benevolent of you! It has to be your infinite love or else how would a sinner and low person like me be the recipient of your grace?’ These pure thoughts caused an overflow of emotions and in reverential tones he spoke out—‘Sat gurudutt shivdutt daata, Ram ke charan mein chitt laaga.’
He hung the cage on his arm, clutched the urn in his armpit and set off for home.
5
It was not yet bright by the time he reached home, and other than a dog he did not meet anyone. And dogs do not particularly care for coins. He hid the urn in a large trough, covered it with coal and kept it in his cellar. At daybreak, he proceeded straight to the purohit’s house. The purohit was at his prayer and in deep thought—Tomorrow I have to appear in court and I don’t even have a single paisa. None of the noblemen have even breathed a word about it. At that very moment Mahadev arrived at his doorstep. The pandit turned his face away—Why has this inauspicious fellow turned up? I wonder if I’ll get even a grain of rice today. He asked grudgingly, ‘What is it? What do you want? Don’t you know that it is the time for my prayers?’ Mahadev replied, ‘Maharaj, I plan to hold a Satyanarayan prayer meeting at my home today.’ The purohit was stunned. A prayer meeting at Mahadev’s home was as extraordinary as the pandit doling out charity to a beggar. He wanted to know, ‘What is the occasion?’ Mahadev replied, ‘Nothing in particular, I just felt like listening to the stories of our gods.’
