by Premchand
‘But what will be the effect of these words on Kola? She is a simple, innocent soul, blind in her love for me. Won’t it pain her deeply? No, Kola, I love you more than my life. You who are so precious to me, how can I think of myself as unfortunate when I have you? I will bear everything to keep you happy. If only you knew how restless I was right now, I am sure you won’t care about people’s jibes. No, you won’t care even if all the people in the whole world pointed their fingers at you. What can I offer you in return for your unwavering love? The duty towards one’s community is perhaps the highest of all obligations. However, in special circumstances, sometimes one has to abandon the community to maintain domestic peace. It was the duty of King Ramachandra to stay back in Ayodhya and be a just ruler to his people, ensuring peace and prosperity. But for him, his father’s command took precedence, which was a personal duty. It was also the duty of King Dasharath to hand over the throne to Rama who was loved by the people of Avadh. But he abandoned this national duty to honour a personal vow that he had made.’
Pandit Shyamswaroop, however, was wrong in assuming that Kolesari was unaware of the struggle in his heart. Since the night she had brought up the issue, she was constantly haunted by the thought that she had been unfair to him. She could see that his face did not reflect joy and contentment, as it did before. He didn’t show the same interest in his food and drink. His conversations barely concealed the pain in his heart. Kolesari could see what was happening to him as clearly as her reflection in a mirror.
She reproached herself. ‘How selfish I am! How can I allow myself to be affected by a low, ill-tongued and shallow woman as to be so unfair to my husband? He has endured so much for my sake and I was affected by a mere taunt?’
These thoughts made her feel she must free him from the vow that he had taken. But Panditji didn’t give her any opportunity to bring up the issue.
5
Pandit Shyamswaroop’s untouchable brothers waited for him for a week. ‘Maybe he’s unwell,’ they thought, ‘or busy in a court case or out on vacation.’ For a week, they kept themselves content with these thoughts. But after that, their patience ran out. Crowds of them descended on his home, wearing thick shawls, white turbans on their heads, feet shod in leather, and walking sticks on their shoulders. They wanted to know if all was well. Panditji had to offer an excuse for his absence and the only excuse he could think of at that moment was that his wife had been sick. From morning till evening, the stream of visitors continued unabated. As visitors from one village left, those from another would arrive. He had to offer the same excuse to all. He had no other option.
The second week passed but at Panditji’s house the pretence of sickness continued. One evening, he was sitting at his doorstep when Ramdeen Pasi, Ballu Chaudhary and Gobari Pansphod arrived with Hakim Nadir Ali Khan in their tow. Hakim Sahib was the Ibn-e-Sina of his times. Just as Satan takes to his heels with the chanting of ism-e aazam, ailments, however chronic or complicated, vanished with Hakim Sahib’s arrival. And sometimes, his patients vanished too.
Panditji was nonplussed to see Hakim Sahib. ‘Now what trick should I play?’ he thought to himself. ‘I’ll be completely exposed! What made these stupid fellows fetch this hakim here? And how on earth was this gentleman ready to come here like the angel of death?’
He was indeed in a fix and there was no time to mull over things. At that moment, despite his deep love for Kolesari, he wished that she indeed had fever. It would have helped him save face. But then, death never comes when one invokes it!
Hakim Sahib said, ‘I was so sorry to hear that your esteemed wife has been sick for the last two weeks. I am unhappier with you, Sir, that you did not inform me of her illness. If you did, the sickness wouldn’t have lasted so long. What is her complaint?’
Panditji scratched his head, coughed once or twice, changed his posture, lowered his head and replied, ‘It’s one of those women’s problems, but she’s much better now. A lady doctor is seeing her. You know very well how people are embracing Western culture. They have more faith in Western medicine. And then, you also know that patients show improvement if they have faith in the doctor and the mode of treatment. It is for this reason that I didn’t think it proper to trouble you.’
‘Yes, you’re right. Which lady doctor is treating her?’
Panditji scratched his head again and replied, ‘Miss Bogan . . .’
Shyamswaroop had to employ all his legal skills to deal with the situation. But it was clearly not a good day for him. The situation, instead of easing up, was becoming more complicated. Even as they were speaking, he saw Kallu Chaudhary, Hardas Bhar and Jugga Dhobi arriving in the company of Miss Bogan, who was riding a horse. Panditji became tense and all the colour drained from his face. In his heart he cursed Miss Bogan, wondering how she had landed there at that hour! But this was not the occasion to show his annoyance. He quickly rose from his chair, shook hands with Miss Bogan and, before she could utter a word, guided her to the sitting room in the women’s section.
He then went up to Kolesari and said, ‘We’re stuck in a peculiar situation. I’d made a pretence of your sickness to get rid of these people. But today, they’ve brought over Hakim Nadir Ali Khan and Miss Bogan to treat you. Miss Bogan is sitting in the drawing room. Now tell me what to do.’
‘Shall I pretend to be sick then?’
‘May your enemies fall sick!’ laughed Panditji.
‘Even if they do, it won’t help right now. You bring Miss Bogan. I’ll get under the blanket.’
Panditji went to the sitting room to fetch Miss Bogan. In the meanwhile, Kolesari covered herself with a blanket from head to toe and started groaning as though she were in great pain. Miss Bogan checked her temperature with a thermometer, examined her tongue, made a face and said, ‘The illness has taken deep root. It’s hysteria. Apparently, there’s no fever in your body, but you must be feeling it in your chest. You have a headache, don’t you?’
‘I feel as though my head will burst. There’s an abscess.’
‘You don’t feel hungry, do you?’
‘Can’t even bear to look at food!’
Miss Bogan completed her diagnosis. She wrote down the prescription and left. Hakim Nadir Ali thought it futile to stay on any longer as he had already collected his fees.
Panditji came out and told his well-wishers, ‘You have taken the trouble for no reason. She’s much better now. I am very grateful to all of you.’
Once the guests had taken his leave, Panditji went inside and laughed to his heart’s content. Then he thought to himself, ‘Today, I had to do things that should never have been done. Won’t the lady understand even now?’
But Kolesari found it difficult to laugh.
6
After his meal, Pandit Shyamswaroop went to bed and fell asleep, but Kolesari was unable to sleep. She kept tossing and turning. Sometimes she would stand up and start pacing up and down, or she would sit at the table in an effort to read a book in the light of the table lamp. But she couldn’t set her mind to anything. Her thoughts rebounded like the rays of the moon streaming through a tree being buffeted by a storm.
She thought to herself—How unfair I’ve been to him. What pain he must have gone through today. A man who has never uttered a lie in his entire life had to tell so many today! And all because of me! If he were accustomed to telling lies, we would be the owners of the vast Didarganj estate today! I’ve reduced a truthful man to such a plight! Is it for this that I am to share his destiny? It’s my duty to support him, to assist him in his endeavours, to give him the right advice and see to it that he is at peace. Instead, I’ve trapped him in a web of lies. May God forgive my sins!
It was my duty to assist him in his good deeds. These villagers are so simple, guileless and generous. I’ve stopped my husband from working for such good people! Why? Just because an ill-tongued woman made a jibe at me? I was so incensed that I forced him to lie! Despite my mean-spirited torments, my generous and pure-hearted husban
d has remained unchanged. He has been more virtuous than virtue, and more honest than honesty. He knows I’m silly and stupid, ignorant and weak and obstinate, yet he hides my follies and continues to love me. How narrow-minded I am! I’m not worthy of even washing his feet! Today, how he laughed when he returned after seeing Miss Bogan off. What a guileless laughter it was! Just to keep my spirits up and to mitigate my guilt. My love, I’m downright evil! I’m petty-minded. But please remember, I’m your slave . . .
As these thoughts ran through her mind, she turned to look at Pandit Shyamswaroop’s face. It appeared content because of a restful sleep. A faint smile played on his lips. As she gazed at her husband, she felt a lump in her throat. Like the high tides in the sea, there are times when human hearts, too, experience the tide of love. At that moment, it seemed as if a river of love had welled up in Kolesari’s eyes. Overwhelmed with emotion, she clung to his chest which contained deep love for her. Just as a thief plunders a house freely if the owner is asleep, Kolesari drew her husband’s love. And just as a thief fears lest the owner wake up, she, too, was fearful of her husband waking up. A woman’s love is restrained. A sense of shame stops her from being demonstrative. The fear that her enthusiasm might be construed as exhibitionist or phoney restrained her from an untrammelled expression of her love. But at that moment Kolesari was free from such fears. When the sea swells in high tide, the waves carry parts of damaged ships, scraps and shells to the shore. The tide of love in Kolesari’s mind swept away all the fetters that had kept her bound for so long.
7
When Panditji returned home from the court the following day, he said to Kolesari, ‘Can I have your permission to go out for a couple of days?’
‘Why? Where are you going?’
‘I’ve taken up a case outside the city. I’ve to go to Bhagalpur.’
‘Right now?’
‘The hearing is fixed for tomorrow.’
At six in the evening, Panditji left for Bhagalpur. The case kept him occupied for the next four days. He had promised to return in three days, but his work took four days. It was only on the fifth day that he was free of the case and, by three that afternoon, he reached Patna and made his way home. As he entered his neighbourhood, he ran into Sanpat Chaudhary of Maajh village.
He asked him, ‘Chaudhary, where are you headed?’
Chaudhary looked up in surprise and replied, ‘Greetings, Sir. Weren’t you expected to return yesterday? What delayed you?’
‘I couldn’t make it yesterday. Is everything fine with you?’
‘By your grace. A big event is going on at your place.’
‘My place? What kind of event?’ he asked in astonishment.
‘Bahuji has arranged a get-together. All our women were invited.’
Filled with joy, Panditji proceeded towards his home. He encountered many familiar faces on the way. It seemed as though a lot of villagers had come to attend a wedding. After exchanging greetings with them he finally reached home and saw a huge crowd gathered there. Many guests were sitting on the floor and smoking hookahs. Kolesari had invited the women. These men had chaperoned their women.
Panditji went to the sitting room and changed his clothes. He instructed the servants to not tell anyone of his arrival. He took his position at the window and began to observe what was happening.
The inner courtyard was covered with clean white sheets and on them sat about three to four hundred village women, all dressed for the occasion. Some were laughing while others were chatting amongst themselves. He saw Kolesari distributing paan and cardamom on a platter among guests. After the distribution of paan, the singing began. Kolesari was wearing a simple sari of thick weave and no jewellery. She drummed the dhol and began singing along with the women. As Panditji watched this, his heart swelled with great joy. He felt like rushing to Kola and holding her close to his heart.
When the singing was over, Kola addressed the women for fifteen minutes in their colloquial language. After that, the women dispersed. Kolesari gave each one of them a warm hug before saying goodbye. One of the women was very old. When she came forward to receive the hug, Kolesari bent down to touch her feet to seek her blessings. Panditji was so thrilled by Kolesari’s courtesy and humility that he actually jumped with joy a couple of times. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he left the sitting room and walked to the inner courtyard.
He called Kolesari into the room and took her in his arms.
She asked, ‘Why were you delayed? Had you not returned today, I would’ve come to see what’s wrong.’ But Panditji had no time to listen to pleasantries.
He hugged her again and again.
Embarrassed, Kolesari said, ‘That’s enough. Do you want to expend all your love today?’
‘What can I say? It does not seem enough to me. The more I love, the more I want to love you. You are truly a goddess.’
Maybe not a kingdom, but if Panditji had been given a large estate, he would not have felt the joy that he had experienced that day.
After showering his wife with affection, he stood in the courtyard and addressed the village women: ‘Sisters, Kola was not sick. She had forbidden me to mix with all of you. But today, by inviting all of you, she’s created the bond of sisterhood. I cannot describe in words the joy I feel at this moment. As an expression of my happiness, I’ve decided to open kothis for transactions of loans in ten villages with the capital of a thousand rupees each. There, you’ll be given loans free of interest. When you borrow from moneylenders you’re made to pay an interest of one or two anna per rupee borrowed. With the opening of this facility, you’ll be free from the clutches of the moneylenders. These kothis will be managed by the lady who’s invited you all here today.’
The women raised their hands in appreciation and blessed Panditji. Kolesari said to her husband, ‘You’ve given me such a great responsibility.’
‘Now that you’ve stepped into the water, you’ll soon learn to swim,’ Panditji said, smiling.
‘But do I know anything about keeping accounts and ledgers?’
‘You’ll learn automatically. Did you know how to counsel people? You were too shy to even speak to women. Only two weeks earlier, you forbade me to meet these people and today you’re treating them as your sisters! You’ve had your way earlier, now it’s my turn.’
‘You set the net to trap me, didn’t you?’ laughed Kolesari.
‘It’s a trap we set for each other.’
Translated from the Urdu by M. Asaduddin
Witchcraft
1
Doctor Jaypal had received a first rank certificate but thanks to destiny or ignorance of professional principles he had never achieved prosperity in his career. His house was in a narrow alley but it didn’t occur to him to get a house in an open area. The cupboards, jars and medical instruments in his pharmacy were quite grubby. In domestic matters, too, he was determinedly frugal.
His son had come of age but the question of his education had not yet arisen. What great wealth have I gained banging my head against books for so long that I should waste thousands of rupees on his education, he would think. His wife Ahalya was a patient lady but Doctor Sahib had put such a burden on these virtues of hers that her back too was bent. His mother was alive and would yearn for a chance to bathe in the Ganga; as for visiting other sacred sites, the subject never arose. Because of this severe thriftiness, there wasn’t the least joy or peace to be found in the house. The happy odd man out was the old servant woman, Jagiya. She had nursed the infant Doctor Sahib and come to love the family so much that she withstood all manner of hardship but never considered going away.
2
To make up for the shortage of income from his practice, the doctor had shares in cloth and sugar factories. The Bombay factory had by chance that day sent him his annual dividend of seven hundred and fifty rupees. Doctor Sahib opened the insured parcel, counted the notes, and said goodbye to the postman. But the postman had too many rupee coins; he was sinking under the wei
ght.
He said, ‘Huzoor, I’d be much obliged if you took the coins and gave me the notes, it would lighten my load.’
Doctor Sahib used to keep the postmen happy and would give them free medicines. He thought, Well, I’ll anyway have to call a tonga to get to the bank, why don’t I make a virtue of a necessity.
He counted the rupee coins, put them in a purse and was just thinking that he should go deposit them in the bank when a patient sent for him. Occasions like these rarely arose. The doctor had no faith in the storage box but was helpless. He put the purse in it and went to see the patient. It was three o’clock when he returned and the bank had closed. There was no way the money could be deposited that day. Like every other day he took his place in the pharmacy.
At eight when he was about to go into the house, he brought out the purse to take with him and it felt somewhat lighter. He immediately weighed it on the scales he used for medicines and was stunned. It was a whole five hundred rupees less. He couldn’t believe it. He opened the purse and counted the money. It did turn out to be five hundred rupees short. He agitatedly felt around the other compartment of the box but it was useless. Dejected, he sat down, closed his eyes in order to focus his power of recall, and started thinking. Did I put part of the money elsewhere? Did the postman give me less? Did I make an error in counting it? I’d laid out piles of twenty-five rupees each and there were exactly thirty piles, I remember that well. I counted each pile and put it into the purse, my memory isn’t fooling me. I remember everything clearly. I’d locked the box too but . . . oh . . . now I know, I left the keys on the table, in my hurry I forget to take them. They’re still on the table. That’s it—it slipped my mind to put the keys in my pocket. But who took them, the outside door was closed. No one touches money that’s lying in the house; nothing like this has ever happened before. For sure this is the work of some outsider. It could be that one of the doors was left open, someone came in to get medicine, saw the keys on the table, and opened the box to lift out money.
