by Premchand
As the panchayat members took their seats, Ramdhan Mishra said, ‘What are you waiting for? Let the members be nominated. Come Chaudhry, tell us your nominees.’
‘Let Samjhu Sahu choose them.’
‘I nominate Jumman Sheikh.’
At Jumman’s name Alagu Chaudhry’s heart began to beat fast, as though someone had slapped him suddenly. Ramdhan was Alagu’s friend. He guessed the game and asked Chaudhry, ‘Have you any objection?’
‘No. Why should I?’
A deep sense of responsibility often serves as a corrective to our egotistic behaviour. This sense acts as a guide when we stray from the path of righteousness.
Sitting smugly in his peaceful office, a newspaper editor attacks the council of ministers freely. But then on some occasions he himself becomes part of the council, and that’s when one can see the transformation. As he steps into Parliament his writings become more balanced, incisive and reveal his concern for justice. This is because he begins to develop a sense of responsibility. A young man tends to be wild, his parents worry no end about him. They fear that he may turn out to be the family’s proverbial black sheep. But the same person becomes sober and patient after taking charge of his family’s responsibilities.
Exactly the same thing happened to Jumman Sheikh. He felt responsible as he occupied the seat of the sarpanch. He felt as though he was occupying the highest seat of justice and dharma. His diktat would have the authority of an oracle. And the sanctity of the divine word should not be vitiated by the intrusion of personal prejudices. He told himself that he must not stray from the path of truth even by a hair’s breadth.
The members of the panchayat started the cross-examination. Both the parties stoutly defended their own cases for some time. There was a general consensus that Samjhu must pay up. Two members, however, opined that Samjhu had suffered a loss and should be shown some mercy. On the contrary, two other members wanted the punishment to be exemplary so that nobody in future would be cruel to their animals.
‘Alagu Chaudhry and Samjhu Sahu, the panchayat has carefully deliberated over your case. Justice demands that Samjhu pay the full price. The bullock was fine when Samjhu bought it. Had he paid in full at the time, there would be no question of going back on his promise now. The bullock died because of overwork and because he was not fed adequate fodder,’ Jumman Sheikh announced the decision.
‘Samjhu beat the animal to death. He must be punished,’ Ramdhan Mishra said.
‘That’s a different issue. It doesn’t fall within our purview,’ replied Jumman.
‘Samjhu should be offered some relief,’ said Jagru Sahu.
‘That depends on Alagu Chaudhry. He can be generous if he wants.’
Alagu Chaudhry was jubilant. He stood up and said loudly: ‘Panch Parameshwar ki jai.’
Everyone praised Jumman Sheikh: ‘This is justice. It’s not in the hands of men. God dwells in the heart of the panchayat, it is His divine glory. The fake cannot pass for the genuine before the panchayat.’
After a while Jumman went up to Alagu, hugged him and said, ‘I’ve been your mortal enemy, brother, from the day you pronounced judgement against me. Now I realize that the one who occupies the seat of judgement has no enemy or friend. To one who dispenses justice, nothing matters. Today, I’ve discovered that God, in fact, speaks through the panchayat.’
Alagu had tears in his eyes. The tears washed away all past misunderstandings. The wilted creeper of their friendship blossomed once more.
Translated from the Hindi by M. Asaduddin
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, 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 reassured, 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 one 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 the 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 in the night, nor would it enter the cage; still, 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 da
y 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 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 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. In that one instant, he had gone from respectable man to thief.
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 in 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, re-established 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 rest of 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 had been pronounced by him a thousand times but their deep religious sentiment had never touched his inner core. Just as an instrument produces 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.’
The preparations began right from the morning. The invitations went round to the neighbouring villages. There was to be a feast after the prayer meeting. Whoever heard it was filled with surprise—how had this grass sprung from sandy soil?
In the evening, when everyone had gathered and the pandit had enthroned himself, Mahadev stood up and addressed everybody in a loud tone, ‘Brothers! I’ve spent all my life swindling people. I’ve lost count of how many I deceived, how many times I termed the authentic as fake. However, now God has been kind to me and has provided me with an opportunity to wipe the smear off my name. I hereby declare to all of you that if anyone feels that I owe him something or have stolen something from him or that I have converted his genuine goods into something spurious, he can come now and take back whatever is his due to the last penny. If, perchance, that person is unable to come today, then from tomorrow onwards, for a month, as and when it is convenient, he may come and settle his account. There is no need for any proof or witness.’
A stunned silence ensued. Someone shook his head sympathetically, ‘Didn’t I say so?’ Someone asked disbelievingly, ‘How does he plan to pay up? The total may come to thousands!’ One thakur poked fun, ‘And what about those people who are deceased?’ Mahadev replied, ‘They would surely have surviving kin?’
However, people were keener to know how he had managed to lay his hands on such a huge amount of money rather than getting their money back. Nobody dared approach Mahadev. These simple village folk did not know how to dig out skeletons from the closet. Moreover, nobody could recall exactly how much Mahadev owed them and they feared that claiming incorrectly was tantamount to committing sacrilege on such an auspicious occasion. The most significant thing was that Mahadev’s saintly gesture had had a mesmerizing effect on them.
Suddenly, the purohit said, ‘If you remember, I had given you some gold for a necklace and you underweighed it.’
Mahadev agreed, ‘Yes, I recall, and how much was your loss?’
The purohit said, ‘It couldn’t have been less than fifty rupees.’
Mahadev took two coins from his waistband and offered them to the purohit. Everybody began pointing out the purohit’s avarice. This was cheating! If at all, the loss could not have been more than a few rupees. He had extorted fifty rupees from the poor man! He did not even fear God! With such a poor conscience, how could he call himself a priest? Good God!
People began to regard Mahadev with something close to veneration. An hour passed and there were no more claimants among the many who were present there. Mahadev repeated the request, ‘It seems as if you have forgotten your dues. In that case, let the prayer meeting end today. I will wait for a month and only then proceed on a pilgrimage. It is my earnest plea that you help me to redeem myself.’
For a month Mahadev waited for his creditors. He would not get any sleep for fear of robbers. He had stopped working. He had even given up alcohol. The holy men and other guests who came to his door would be treated generously. His fame spread far and wide. The month passed by and not a single person turned up to claim anything. It now dawned on Mahadev how much goodness and right conduct there were in this world! The world was a bad place for ev
il people and good for the righteous!
6
Fifty years have gone by. If you go to Vedon village, you can see a golden urn from afar. It is placed at the thakur’s door. Adjoining it is a cemented pond where lotuses bloom in abundance. Nobody catches the fish in it, and beside it is a huge samadhi. It is Atmaram’s memorial, related to which many tales are prevalent. Some say that the bejewelled cage ascended to the heavens and some believe that it disappeared, with the parrot reciting ‘Sat gurudutt Shivdutt daata’. The truth was that the moon-like parrot had been swallowed by a saturnine cat. People say that at midnight one can still hear the incantation near the pond—‘Sat gurudutt Shivdutt daata, Ram ke charan mein chitt laaga.’
Even about Mahadev there are many popular legends. The most accepted one is that after having memorialized Atmaram, he set off for the Himalayas with many sanyasis and never returned. He came to be known as Atmaram thereafter.
Translated from the Hindi by Deeba Zafir
Road to Salvation
1
A peasant feels as much pride at the sight of his harvest field as a soldier takes pride in his red turban, a beautiful lady in her jewellery and a doctor in the crowd of patients waiting to see him. Whenever Jhingur looked at his cane fields he felt a wave of enthusiasm washing over him. His three bighas of land would yield him an easy six hundred rupees. And if by God’s grace the rates went up, they’d yield even more. Both his bullocks had grown old, so he’d buy a new pair at the Batesar fair. If he could find two more bighas of land, he’d acquire them. Why worry about money? The moneylenders were pleading with him. He thought no end of himself, and so there was hardly anyone in the village he hadn’t fought with.
