by Premchand
It was evening. Susheela was making chapattis on the chulha, and both children, perched near the chulha, were looking at the chapattis hungrily. Cooking on the other side of the chulha was the dal. They were waiting for the dal to get prepared. The girl was eleven years old, while the boy was eight.
Growing impatient, Mohan said, ‘Amma, give me the dry chapattis. I am very hungry.’
Susheela replied, ‘The dal is still uncooked, bhaiya.’
Revati said, ‘I have a paisa. I shall buy some curd.’
Susheela answered, ‘Where did you find the paisa?’
Revati said, ‘I found it yesterday in my box of dolls.’
Susheela replied, ‘But return soon.’
Revati ran outside and, in a while, returned with a little curd on a leaf. Ma gave him the chapatti. He started eating it with the curd. He too was selfish, like other boys. He did not even offer it to his sister.
Susheela looked at him sternly. ‘Give some to your sister. Will you eat it alone?’
Mohan felt ashamed. His eyes welled up.
Revati said, ‘No, Amma, see how little came of a paisa. Eat, Mohan, you have a habit of sleeping early. I’ll eat once the dal is ready.’
At that moment, two men called from outside. Revati went out and inquired. These were Seth Kuberdas’s men. They had come to get the house vacated. Susheela’s eyes turned red with anger.
She came to the entrance hall and said, ‘It is barely a month since my husband’s death, and now he is bent upon evacuating the house? My house worth fifty thousand was bought for thirty thousand, five thousand was charged as interest, and still there is no peace? Tell him I won’t vacate now.’
The munim said politely, ‘Baiji, what is my authority? I’m merely a messenger. Once a thing belongs to someone else, you are bound to let go of it. What is the use of wrangling?’
Susheela realized that what the man said was true. After being marked out for slaughter, how long can the cow graze?
Softening, she said, ‘Tell Sethji to give me a respite of five to ten days. But no, don’t say anything. Why ask for a favour for five to ten days? If my destiny was to live in this house, it wouldn’t have slipped away in the first place.’
The munim asked, ‘So will it be vacant by tomorrow morning?’
‘Yes, yes, I am saying so; but why wait till morning, I’ll vacate it right now. What great items have I got? Your Sethji’s rent of the night should not be wasted. Go fetch a lock, or have you brought it already?’
‘What is the hurry, bai! You can vacate it tomorrow, taking your time.’
‘Why keep the trouble for tomorrow? Munimji, please get the lock and latch it up.’
Having said this, Susheela went inside. She served food to the children, and after somehow swallowing a chapatti herself, washed the dishes; then, hailing a tonga, she loaded her sparse belongings on to it and, with a heavy heart, bid farewell to the house forever.
The house had been built upon the foundation of many cherished aspirations. For the griha pravesh ceremony, many thousands of Brahmins were feasted. Susheela had to work so hard that she had been unwell for an entire month. Two of her children had died in this house. Her husband had passed away here. The memories of the dead had purified each brick of the house. It was as if each stone was happy in her happiness and saddened in her sorrow. Now she was being forced to leave this house.
She spent the night at a neighbour’s house, and the next day, she rented a house in a lane for ten rupees a month.
5
The difficulty with which the orphans spent three months in the new house can only be understood by those with empathy. Poor Santlal be blessed! He was helping them as far as his means permitted. Had Susheela hailed from a poor family, she would have ground spices, stitched clothes, served at someone’s house, but how could she lean upon works considered inferior by the community? People would have commented, ‘This is Seth Ramnath’s wife!’ The honour of that name had to be preserved too! There is no respite from the chakravyuh of society. A few of the girl’s ornaments had remained, but they too were sold off. When the food itself was hard to manage, how to arrange for the rent? Three months later, the landlord and owner of the house, who was an honourable member of the same community, and who had heartily enjoyed the funeral feast, became impatient. Poor man, how long could he persevere? It was a matter of thirty rupees, not of a mere rupee or eight annas. Such a big amount could not be just given away.
Finally, one day, Sethji came around and, showing his anger, said, ‘If you cannot pay the rent, vacate the house. I showed such consideration towards you for the sake of the community. Now there is no way to work things out.’
Susheela pleaded, ‘Sethji, if I had any money, I would have first paid your rent before even drinking water. You have shown such consideration, for this, I lay my head at your feet, but right now, I’m empty-handed. Consider that you are nurturing a brother’s children, what else can I say?’
Sethji was adamant. ‘Go, now, I’ve heard many such statements. If one is a member of the community, suck him dry. If it were a Muslim, you would have paid him secretly every month, otherwise he would have thrown you out. Since I belong to the community, it is not essential to pay me the rent? I shouldn’t even ask for it? This is what should be done with one’s own community!’
Just then, Revati arrived and stood watching. Sethji looked at her from head to toe and then for some reason said, ‘Okay, so this girl has come of age. Haven’t you fixed her engagement somewhere?’
Revati bolted straightaway from the scene. Susheela felt a twinge of kinship in these words and said elatedly: ‘There hasn’t been any discussion yet, Sethji. I can’t even pay the rent, how will I get her engaged? And then, she’s still young.’
Sethji immediately gave references from the scriptures. ‘This is the correct age for the marriage of young girls. One should never forget dharma. The rent is not an issue. We had no idea that this was the state of Seth Ramnath’s family.’
Susheela asked, ‘Is there a suitable family in your mind? You know the fact that I have nothing to give.’
Jhabarmal answered (for this was the name of the seth), ‘There is no question of dowry, baiji. It is the kind of house where the girl will be happy forever. Her brother can stay with her too. The family is of good lineage, prosperous in every way. But he is a widower.’
‘He should be of a decent age. How does it matter if he is a widower?’
‘He’s not that old, it is just his fortieth year. But he is good, hale and hearty to look at. A man’s age is calculated according to his food intake. Just understand that your family will be liberated.’
Susheela said unwillingly, ‘Okay, I will think about it and then reply. Show him to me once.’
‘No need to go anywhere to show him, bai, he is standing in front of you.’
Susheela looked at him with disgust. This fifty-year-old man is so lusty! The flesh of his chest has hung to his belly and still he nurses the ardent desire for marriage! This wretch thinks that giving in to temptation, I will tie my daughter to his neck.
Susheela would keep her daughter a virgin all her life, but she would not spoil her life by marrying her to this corpse of a man. But she controlled her anger. These were troubled times, otherwise how would such an old man even dare to make such a proposal to her. She said, ‘Thank you, Sethji, but I cannot marry my daughter to you.’
‘So what do you think, that you will get a virgin man in the community for your daughter?’
‘My daughter will remain a virgin.’
‘And tarnish the name of Ramnathji?’
‘Don’t you feel ashamed saying such things to me? For the sake of the name, I lost my house, my possessions, but I can’t push my daughter into a well.’
‘Then give me my rent.’
‘I don’t have the money right now.’
Jhabarmal entered the house and threw every household item into the lane. The earthen pot burst and the smaller pots brok
e into pieces. The clothes in the trunk lay scattered. Susheela stood rooted, looking at the cruel way her misfortune was playing out.
After destroying the household, Jhabarmal locked the house and left, threatening to extort the money through the court.
6
The high and mighty have wealth, while the low and humble have heart. With money, big businesses are run, palatial houses are made, there are servants, and travels and hunts are undertaken. Sympathy emanates from the heart and tears flow out.
Adjacent to the same house was the shop of an old woman, a vegetable seller. Old and a widow, she was a childless woman, fire without and water within. Unleashing hundreds of curses upon Jhabarmal, she picked up each one of Susheela’s items and carried them to her house.
‘Live in my house, Bahu. I restrained out of courtesy, else I would’ve pulled out his moustache. Death is hovering over his head, he has no kith or kin to look after, and he is still dying after wealth. As if he will load it on to his chest as he leaves the world. You can come and stay in my house. There is no problem here, I live alone. You could give me a piece or two of whatever you cook.’
Susheela was scared and said, ‘Mata, I don’t have anything except a seer of flour. How will I pay your rent?’
The old woman said, ‘Bahu, I’m neither Jhabarmal, nor Kuberdas. I understand that life has its share of happiness and sorrow. Don’t be proud in the happy days and don’t worry in the hard days. From people like yourself, I manage to earn four paise and fill my belly. I have seen you when you lived in that palace and I am seeing you today as well, when you are an orphan. You have the same temperament. I’m fortunate that you have come to my house. Have I turned blind that I should ask you for rent?’
Those simple words of consolation eased Susheela’s heart. She saw that true goodness and humanity lay with the poor and downtrodden. The pity shown by the rich and mighty is simply another form of arrogance.
Susheela had been living with the old vegetable-seller for six months. Susheela’s affection towards her grew every day. She placed her entire earnings in Susheela’s hands. Both the children were as dear to her as her eyes. No neighbour could dare to look at them harshly—the old woman would raise a storm. Santlal brought something or the other every month. They could manage the food on that amount.
It was the month of Kartik. Fever was in the air. One day, the usually lively Mohan fell ill and lay unconscious for three days. His fever was so high that a person standing close to him could feel the heat. The old woman ran from ojhas to experienced men, but the fever did not subside at all. Susheela feared it was typhoid. The very thought scared her to death.
On the fourth day, she asked Revati, ‘Beti, you have seen the senior Panchji’s house. Go tell him that bhaiya is sick and request him to send a doctor.’
Revati only had to be told. She ran over to Seth Kuberdas.
Kuberdas said, ‘The doctor’s fee is sixteen rupees. Will your mother be able to pay?’
Hopelessly, Revati replied, ‘How would Amma have any money?’
Kuberdas retorted, ‘Then with what face does she call for my doctor? Where is your mama? Go and ask him to bring a doctor from the Seva Samiti. Or why doesn’t your mother take the boy to a charitable hospital? Or is her old pride intact? What a stupid woman, doesn’t have a penny at home, and is ordering for a doctor. She must be thinking that Panchji will pay the fees. Why should Panchji pay the fees? The money of the community is for pious deeds, not for throwing away like this!’
Revati returned to her mother. But she couldn’t bring herself to say whatever she had heard. Why rub salt into a wound? She made an excuse: the senior Panchji had gone somewhere.
Susheela replied angrily: ‘So why didn’t you tell the munim? Was anyone gorging on sweets here, that you rushed back?’
At that moment Santlal arrived with Vaidyaji.
7
The vaidya too came only once and did not come again. The doctors from the Sewa Samiti too came for only two days, after much pleading. Thereafter they were too busy, and Mohan’s condition deteriorated every day. A month had passed, but the fever did not drop a bit. His face had shrunk so much that it evoked pity. He couldn’t talk, or say anything, and was even unable to turn on his side. Lying thus, his skin cracked and the hair from his head started falling. His hands and feet turned wooden. Santlal turned up whenever he got leave from work, but nothing came of it, as caretaking is not the same as medicine.
One evening Mohan’s hands fell cold. The mother’s spirit was already broken. Seeing her son in such a condition, she started beating her chest and weeping. Many prayers and vows had already been offered. Crying, she took seven rounds of Mohan’s bed, folded her hands and said, ‘O God, this is the sole earning of my life. Having lost my all, I was still contented holding my son to my heart; but I will not be able to bear this blow! Heal him and take my life instead. That’s all, I desire just this much mercy, O merciful!’
Who can understand the mysteries of the world! Don’t many of us have the experience of losing twice the amount whenever we swindled some money? Susheela caught fever that night, and Mohan’s fever was gone. She had already been reduced to half her size in taking care of the child, and now this illness gripped her. Who knows whether the gods were listening and taking note, but her prayers came true, just as she had spoken them.
On the fifteenth day, Mohan got up from his charpoy, came to his mother and, placing his head on her chest, started weeping. Mother put her arms around his neck, pressed him to her chest, and said, ‘Why do you weep, son? I will get well. What worries do I have now? God is the nurturer. He is your protector. He is your father. Now I’m reassured from all sides. I’ll get well quickly.’
Mohan said, ‘Jiya says, “Amma will not recover.”’
Susheela kissed the boy. ‘Jiya is mad, let her say what she will. I’ll not go anywhere and leave you. I’ll always be with you. But, yes, the day you commit a crime, or pick up someone else’s things, I will die.’
Mohan became happy. ‘So you will never leave me, Ma?’
Susheela said, ‘Never, my son, never.’
That night, the widow, struck by sorrow and adversity, passed away, leaving her two orphaned children in the custody of God.
8
It has been three years since that incident. Mohan and Revati stay with the same old woman. The old woman is not their mother, but she means much more to them. Every morning she feeds Mohan the chapattis from the previous night and leaves him at Guruji’s school. Then she fetches him back after school hours. This is Revati’s fourteenth year. She does all the household chores—grinding, pounding, cooking, washing the utensils, dusting and sweeping. When the old woman goes off to sell her wares, Revati manages the shop too.
One day the senior Panch, Seth Kuberdas, summoned her. ‘Aren’t you ashamed of sitting in the shop, disgracing the entire community? Don’t you dare sit in the shop from tomorrow! I have secured Jhabarmalji for your panigrahan.’
His wife, the sethani, supported him. ‘You’ve grown up now, beti, it’s not good for you to sit in the shop like this. People are saying all kinds of things. Seth Jhabarmal wouldn’t have agreed at all, we’ve persuaded him with great effort. Simply understand this, you’ll live like a queen! He has assets worth lakhs—lakhs! You are fortunate to have found such a groom. You have a younger brother, he’ll also be found a shop.’
Seth Kuberdas added, ‘Such a disgrace to the community.’
Sethani agreed. ‘So it is.’
Revati was embarrassed. ‘What do I know, you should talk to my maama.’
Seth retorted angrily, ‘Who is he to interfere? Does accountancy for barely a penny. What should I ask him? I’m the Panch of the community. I have the right to act for the welfare of the community. I have taken the opinion of the other Panch members. Everyone has agreed. If you don’t agree, we will begin court proceedings. You will need money for expenses—here, take this!’
Saying this, he threw a few
twenty-rupee notes at Revati.
Revati picked them up, tore them into pieces right there and, her face turning red with anger, said, ‘The community did not ask about us when we were struggling for food. My mother passed away, but no one did as much as peep in. My brother fell sick, no one bothered to inquire. I don’t care for such a community.’
After Revati left, Jhabarmal came out of the cellar where he was hiding. His face bore dejection.
The sethani remarked, ‘The girl is very arrogant. She has lost all shame.’
Jhabarmal wailed, ‘My notes are wasted. They are torn so badly that they can’t even be glued back together.’
Kuberdas consoled him. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll settle her through the court. Where can she go?’
Jhabarmal conceded. ‘You are my only hope now.’
How can the words of the senior Panch of the community be untrue? Revati was a minor. Her parents were no more. In such a case, the Panch Council had full authority over her. If she doesn’t wish to stay within the community’s diktat, let her not. The law cannot disregard the community’s authority.
Santlal heard about the matter and ground his teeth. ‘When will God terminate this community!’
Revati asked him, ‘Can the community forcibly take me under its authority?’
‘Yes, beti, the law also rests in the hands of those who have money.’
‘I’ll say clearly that I don’t want to live with him.’
‘What will come of your statement? If this is written in your fate, who can change it? I am going to the senior Panch.’
‘No, Maamaji, don’t go anywhere. If the only hope lies in destiny, then whatever is destined will happen.’
Revati somehow spent the night at home. She repeatedly hugged her sleeping brother. Her heart grew distressed thinking about how this orphan would live alone; but remembering Jhabarmal’s face, her resolve became firm.
