by Premchand
The mother-in-law chided her, ‘You don’t want to go with the others and you don’t want to go alone. Why don’t you say clearly that you don’t want to go at all? You can’t carry on like a queen in my house. No one cares much for your beauty, they want their work done. You are very beautiful but can I live on your beauty? Take the basket and go get grass.’
Mahaveer was rubbing down the horse under the shadow of the neem tree by the door. He saw Mulia leaving with a tearful face but he couldn’t say anything. If he had his way, he would keep her close to his heart and before his eyes, but the horse needed to be fed. If he bought grass, it would cost him no less than twelve annas a day. He sometimes managed to earn a rupee or two but there was no guarantee. And where could he earn that kind of money? He hardly earned one and a half or two rupees; he was able to sometimes and sometimes he was not. Ever since these ruinous lorries had been introduced, the ekkawalas’ animals had gone out of work. Nobody even wants to travel for free. He’d bought the ekka and the horse with a loan of a hundred and fifty rupees from the moneylender, but who cares for ekkas when there are lorries? He couldn’t pay back the moneylender—not even the interest, forget the principal!
He said half-heartedly, ‘If you don’t feel like going, let it be, we’ll see.’
This show of sympathy pleased Mulia. ‘What will the horse eat?’ she asked.
She avoided yesterday’s path today and walked between the mounds on the fields. She kept looking around cautiously. Sugar-cane fields lay on both sides. Even the smallest sound numbed her—what if someone was hiding in the sugar cane? But nothing happened. She passed the sugar-cane fields and the mango orchards; irrigated lands came into view. A pulley was running in a well in the distance. The mounds of earth in the fields were thick with green grass. Greed came over Mulia. In half an hour she could gather more grass here than what a dry field would yield over the entire afternoon! Nobody keeps watch over here. If somebody shouts, I’ll leave. She squatted and started skinning the grass, and in an hour’s time more than half her basket was full. She was so engrossed in her work that she didn’t notice Chain Singh coming. When she suddenly raised her head at the sound of footsteps, she saw him before her.
Mulia’s heart froze. She wanted to run, to turn over the basket and go home with the empty basket but Chain Singh said from some yards away, ‘Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid, for God’s sake! I won’t trouble you. Take as much grass as you want, it’s my field.’
Mulia’s hands were numb, the small hoe remained glued to her hand and she couldn’t even see the grass. She wanted the ground to open and swallow her. The world seemed to float in front of her eyes.
Chain Singh asked reassuringly, ‘Why don’t you cut? Have I ever made an objection? Come out here every day, I’ll help you cut too.’
Mulia was as still as a painted figure.
Chain Singh took a step forward and said, ‘Why are you so scared of me! You think I’ve come to trouble you again? God knows that yesterday too I didn’t take your hand to harass you. Seeing you, my hand just moved on its own. I lost my mind. You went away; I sat there crying for hours. I felt like chopping off my hand. I felt like consuming poison. I’ve been searching for you since and finally you came this way. Looking for you everywhere, I ended up here. You can punish me as much as you want. Even if you decide to chop my head off, my neck won’t tremble. I was a rogue, a loafer, but after seeing you, I’ve been cleansed of all wickedness. I wish I were your dog and could follow you everywhere, or your horse whom you feed grass with your hands. If only this follower of yours could be of some use to you. My youth is cursed if I say this insincerely! Mahaveer is lucky to have got an angel like you.’
Mulia had been listening quietly and now, lowering her head, asked innocently, ‘So what do you want me to do?’
Chain Singh came closer and said, ‘I want only your kindness.’
Mulia looked up and glanced at him. Her sense of shame had vanished. She said sharply, ‘Can I ask you something? Don’t mind. Are you married?’
Chain Singh replied in a suppressed voice, ‘Yes I am married, but what is marriage, it’s only a game.’
A scornful smile played on Mulia’s lips. She said, ‘Still, if my man spoke to your woman like this, how would you feel? Wouldn’t you be ready to chop his head off? Speak! What do you think—that Mahaveer is a Chamar so there’s no blood in his veins, he has no sense of shame, no idea about his dignity. You are fond of my looks. Don’t women many times more beautiful wander near the ghats? I can’t even be compared to the soles of their feet. Why don’t you appeal to one of them? Are they lacking in pity? But you won’t go there because it wounds your heart to do that. You dare to ask me because I’m a chamarin, from the lower caste, and women from the lower caste, with a little threatening and tempting, can be easily caught in your fist. It’s a cheap bargain. You’re a Thakur, why would you let such a chance pass?’
Embarrassed, Chain Singh said, ‘Mulia, that’s not true. I’m telling you the truth. It’s not a matter of high or low birth. Everybody is equal. I’m willing to place my head at your feet.’
Mulia said, ‘That’s because you know I can’t do a thing. Go place your head at the feet of a Kshatriya woman and then you’ll see the outcome of placing your head at the feet of a woman. Your head won’t be left standing on your neck.’
Chain Singh was sinking into the ground in shame. His face had the withered look of someone who has just spent months on the sickbed. No words came out of his mouth. Mulia was outspoken without being proud.
She spoke again, ‘I go to the market every day, I know what goes on in the big houses. Is there one well-to-do home which doesn’t employ a syce, a coachman, a water-carrier, a priest and a cook? All these people are diversions for the rich. Whatever those rich women do, they’re right in doing! Don’t their husbands go around losing their hearts to chamarins and kaharins? The give and take is even. But the poor have no such means. I am everything to my husband. He would never even glance at another woman. It’s a matter of chance that I’m a little pretty but even if I were black and ugly, he would treat me the same. I’m quite sure about it. I may be a chamarin but I will not stoop so low as to repay his faith with deception. Yes, if he starts following his fancies, if he makes me suffer, then I’ll do the same to him. You’re crazy about my looks, aren’t you? If I suddenly grow pockmarked, if I turn blind in one eye, you won’t even spare me a glance. Tell me, am I lying?’
Chain Singh could not deny it.
Mulia continued in the same proud tone, ‘If I turn blind in not just one but both eyes, he will still treat me the same way. He will nurse me and feed me. You want me to cheat such a person? Go! And never tease me again, or it won’t be good for you.’
3
Youth is passion, strength, kindness, courage, self-confidence, honour and everything that makes life sacred, bright and complete. Youth is intoxicated with pride, cruelty, selfishness, impertinence, material love, wickedness and all that leads life towards beastliness, deterioration and ruin. Chain Singh was drunk on youth. Mulia’s cool nature brought him back to his senses just as a splash of water poured over boiling syrup rids it of its impurities and a clear, pure liquid comes forth. Chain Singh’s youthful obsession had been sent packing, only youth remained. The words of a beautiful woman can as easily make one lose one’s faith as they can bring deliverance.
Chain Singh was a changed man from that day on. He had been short-tempered, used to swearing at, scolding and beating up his workmen over small things. The powerless trembled before him. The labourers would get busy with their work whenever they saw him approaching but no sooner had he turned his back than they’d start smoking their chillums. In their hearts, everybody hated him and bad-mouthed him. But from that day on, Chain Singh became so kind-hearted, so serious and patient that the people were awestruck.
Many days passed. One evening Chain Singh went on an inspection of his farm. Water was being drawn there for irrigation. He saw
that the canal had cracked in one place and water was running waste. It wasn’t reaching the beds but the old woman who had made them was sitting idly by. She didn’t seem concerned about finding out why the water wasn’t reaching the beds. If he’d seen this happen earlier, Chain Singh would have lost it. He would have cut the woman’s wages for the day, and snarled at the workers operating the pulley, but that day he stayed calm. He took some clay and bound the fissure on the canal; then he went into the field and said to the old woman, ‘You’re sitting here while all the water is running waste.’
Agitated, the old woman said, ‘It must have opened just now, my master! I’ll go right now and fix it.’
She was trembling as she said this. Calming her, Chain Singh said, ‘Don’t run away, don’t run away, I’ve closed the canal. Haven’t seen the old man for many days. Does he go to work or not?’
Delighted, the old woman said, ‘He’s sitting idle nowadays, Bhaiya, there’s nowhere for him to work.’
Chain Singh said gently, ‘So put him to work with me. There’s a little hemp, tell him to cut it.’
Having said this, he went towards the well. Four pulleys were at work there but two of the four labourers had gone off to eat ber. The other two were stunned to see Chain Singh. If the Thakur asks about the others, what will we say? All of us will be scolded. Poor creatures, they were squirming inside. Chain Singh asked, ‘Where have those two gone?’
No sound came from either of their mouths. Suddenly, the other two could be seen making their way; each had bers tucked into a corner of his dhoti. They were chatting gaily as they walked but as soon as they saw Chain Singh, they shrivelled up with fear. Each foot felt as heavy as a quintal. They could neither move forward nor go back. Both knew that they’d be scolded and that their wages might be withheld as well; this slowed them down. Chain Singh called out to them, ‘Come on, come on, what are the bers like, let me sample them, they’re from my tree, aren’t they?’
The two men were even more terrified. The Thakur won’t leave us alive today. See how sweetly he speaks. That’s exactly how brutally he’ll beat us. The poor things were withering away. Chain Singh said again, ‘Get here at once, I’ll take all the ripe ones. One of you run home and get some salt. (To the other two workers) You two also join us; the bers from that tree are sweet. Eat some bers; work will always go on.’
Now the two truants were a little encouraged. They put all the bers before Chain Singh and started picking out the ripe ones for him. One of them ran to fetch some salt. For half an hour the pulleys stayed still. When all the bers were eaten and Chain Singh made to leave, the two offenders joined their hands. ‘Bhaiyaji, please spare us today, we were very hungry or we wouldn’t have gone.’
Chain Singh said softly, ‘So, what’s wrong with that? I had ber too. And we wasted an hour or so, that’s all. If you want, you can do an hour’s work in half an hour. If you don’t want to do it, then even an hour’s work can’t be finished over a whole day.’
Chain Singh left, and the four of them fell into a discussion.
First: ‘If the master stays like this, one would feel like working. It’s difficult to work when someone’s always breathing down your neck.’
Second: ‘I thought he would eat us alive today.’
Third: ‘I’ve been noticing him for some days, he’s grown softer.’
Fourth: ‘Let’s see if we get a full day’s wages in the evening, then we’ll talk.’
First: ‘You’re so dim-witted. You can’t even judge a person’s countenance.’
Second: ‘We should work whole-heartedly now.’
Third: ‘Of course! When he has shown faith in us, it’s our duty to do our best.’
Fourth: ‘As for me, folks, I still can’t trust the Thakur.’
4
Chain Singh had to go to court on work one day. It was a journey of about five miles. He usually went on horseback but the sun was quite harsh that day, so he decided to take an ekka instead. Mahaveer was sent word that he should take him along. Mahaveer called out to him at about nine o’clock. Chain Singh was ready; he quickly mounted the ekka. But the horse was so emaciated, the seat so dirty and tattered, everything so shabby, that Chain Singh was embarrassed to sit on it. He asked, ‘Why is all this stuff in such a bad condition, Mahaveer? Your horse was never so feeble. Are there very few passengers these days?’ Mahaveer said, ‘No, master, there are passengers, but who asks for an ekka when there are lorries? I’d go home with two or three rupees earlier, I now hardly even get twenty annas. What should I feed the horse and what should I eat myself? I’m in big trouble. I’m thinking of selling off the ekka and the horse and working for those like you, but it’s hard to find takers. A sum of at least twelve annas goes on the horse, not counting the grass. When we go hungry most of the time, who is going to care for the horse?’
Chain Singh looked at his torn kurta and said, ‘Why don’t you farm some two or three bighas of land?’
Mahaveer bowed his head and said, ‘Farming takes a lot of hard work. I’m thinking that if I get a client, I’ll remove the ekka’s spare parts and use it for ferrying grass to the market. Both my mother and wife go out to gather grass these days. That’s the only way ten or twelve annas come my way.’
Chain Singh asked, ‘So the old woman goes to the market?’
Mahaveer said shamefaced, ‘No, Bhaiya, how could she walk so far? My wife goes. She cuts grass till the afternoon and then heads to the market. By the time she returns, it’s late at night. It’s hard, but what to do, how does one fight one’s fate?’
Chain Singh reached the court and Mahaveer, taking his ekka this way and that in search of passengers, went into the city. Chain Singh asked him to return by five.
At about four, Chain Singh emerged from his work. There was a paan shop nearby and a little further on a large banyan tree in whose shade stood dozens of tongas, ekkas and phaetons. The horses had been untied. These were the carriages of lawyers, attorneys and officers. Chain Singh drank some water, had a paan and thought that if he got a lorry he would head to town for a bit, when his eye fell on a grass-cutter woman. With a basketful of grass on her head, she was bargaining with the syces. Chain Singh’s heart leapt with joy—it was Mulia! She was dressed up nicely in a pink sari and was bargaining with the coachmen. Many coachmen had gathered; some bantered with her, some stared, some laughed at her.
A coal-dark coachman said to her, ‘Mula, the grass is, at the very most, worth six annas.’
Mulia stared at him with her passion-arousing eyes and said, ‘If you want it in six annas, the grass-cutters are sitting over there. Go on, you’ll get it for two to four paisa less. But my grass you won’t get for less than twelve annas.’
A middle-aged coachman said from atop his phaeton, ‘It’s your day, why twelve annas, ask for a rupee. The takers will take it boastfully. The lawyers are about to come out, there isn’t much time left.’
A tongawala in a pink turban said, ‘The old man’s mouth is watering, why would Mulia spare us a glance now?’
Chain Singh was so furious he wanted to hit these scoundrels with his shoes. How everyone is staring at her, as if they will drink her up with their eyes. And Mulia is so happy here. She isn’t shying away or hesitating or submitting. How, passing around smiles, looking about with her attractive eyes, sliding her sari further and further off her head, turning her face at everyone, she speaks. The same Mulia who had roared like a lioness at him!
It was now four o’clock. A carnival of agents, lawyers and attorneys appeared. The agents ran towards the lorries. The lawyers and attorneys headed to their carriages. The coachmen quickly readied their horses. Many of the dignitaries ogled lustily at Mulia as they boarded their vehicles.
Suddenly Mulia took her basket and ran after a phaeton. A young lawyer sahib turned out in the English fashion sat in it. He got Mulia to keep the grass on the footstep and, taking out something from his pocket, handed it to her. Mulia smiled, the two said something to each other,
which Chain Singh could not hear.
In the next instant, Mulia, happy-faced, was heading home. Chain Singh, hypnotized, remained standing near the paan shop. When the shopkeeper wound up, put on his clothes, shut the door of his cabin and came down, Chain Singh came to life. He asked, ‘Have you closed your shop?’
The shopkeeper said sympathetically, ‘Please get some treatment for this, Thakur Sahib, this illness is not a good thing!’
Chain Singh was astonished and asked, ‘What illness?’
The shopkeeper said, ‘What illness! You’ve been standing here for the last half an hour as if you were dead. The court has emptied, all the shops have closed, even the sweepers have gone—have you noticed anything? This is a serious illness, get it treated quickly.’
Chain Singh took his stick and went to the gate and saw Mahaveer’s ekka coming towards him.
5
When some distance had been covered, Chain Singh asked, ‘How much did you earn today, Mahaveer?’
Mahaveer laughed and said, ‘Master, today I was left waiting all day. Nobody wanted a ride even for free. On top of that I smoked bidis for four paise.’
After a while Chain Singh said, ‘I have some advice for you. You take a rupee from me every day, and whenever I call for you come over with your ekka. Then your wife won’t have to go with grass to the market. Do you agree?’
Mahaveer looked at him with bright eyes and said, ‘Master, I eat your salt, I am your subject. Whenever you want, just call for me. To take money from you—’
Chain Singh interrupted, ‘No, I don’t want free service from you. Come and get a rupee from me every day. Don’t send your wife with grass to the market. Your honour is my honour. And whenever you need more money, don’t hesitate to come and get it. Yes, and see to it that you don’t discuss this matter with Mulia. What’s the use!’
One evening, many days later, Mulia happened to meet Chain Singh. Having finished his transactions with his debtors, he was heading home when, at the very spot where he had seized Mulia’s hand, her voice came to him. Chain Singh stopped short and looked back to see Mulia running towards him. He said, ‘What is it, Mula? Why do you run when I am waiting for you?’
