by Premchand
The guests finished eating. Then the family ate. After that came the turn of the musicians, the washermen, the other assorted servants and poor people from the village, but no one asked for Kaki. Budhiram and Rupa had decided to punish Kaki for her shamelessness. They had no pity for her old age, her pitiable condition and her near-loss of all senses. Only Ladli was thinking of her and worrying.
Ladli loved Kaki. She was a simple girl with none of the naughtiness and mischief that children usually have. She had felt awful both times when her parents had dragged Kaki cruelly away. She had wondered why they simply didn’t give Kaki a lot of puris to eat. After all, the guests couldn’t eat all of them. And what was wrong if Kaki ate before the guests did? She wanted to go to Kaki and make her feel better but fear of her mother held her back. She hadn’t even touched her share of the puris; she had locked them away in her box of toys. She was impatient to take those puris to Kaki. She knew Kaki would sit up the moment she heard her and would be delighted by the puris. And then she would kiss and hug Ladli.
IV
It was eleven at night. Rupa lay fast asleep in the courtyard. But Ladli lay awake. She couldn’t sleep without giving Kaki puris to eat. Her box of toys lay before her. When she was convinced that her mother was fast asleep, she got up quietly and began to think how to slip away. It was pitch dark all around. The only light was the soft glimmer from the halfdead cooking fires. A dog lay asleep before the fires. Ladli’s eyes fell on the neem tree planted beside the main gate. She imagined that she could see Hanumanji sitting on top of it. She could clearly make out his long tail and the club in his hand. She closed her eyes in fright. Suddenly, the dog got up. Ladli felt a little reassured. The waking dog gave her more confidence than several sleeping people. She picked up the box in which she had locked away her puris and walked towards Kaki’s room.
V
Poor Kaki could only remember someone dragging her by the hands, pulling her as though she was flying through air, and then dumping her from the top of a mountain. After that, she had fallen down unconscious.
When she regained consciousness, she could hear nothing. She imagined that people had eaten and gone to sleep and with that her fate too had gone to sleep! How was she to spend the night? There was a fire raging in her stomach. No one had bothered to check on her or give her something to eat. ‘Will they become rich by starving me?’ she wondered. ‘Do they have no pity? They know I am old, deaf, blind and crippled. I know nothing. I understand nothing. So what if I went into the courtyard? Couldn’t Budhiram have told me gently to come later—after the guests had eaten? Why did he have to drag and dump me? Rupa abused and insulted me in front of everyone for the sake of a few puris. And still their cruelty shows no signs of lessening. They have fed everyone but they have not bothered to even ask me. If they didn’t feed me when they were feeding everyone else, surely they are not going to give me any puris now.’
And with that hopeless thought, Kaki lay down. Grief nearly choked her but the thought of the guests nearby made her stop herself from crying out loud.
Suddenly, she heard someone say, ‘Get up, Kaki. I have brought puris for you.’ Kaki recognized Ladli’s voice. She got up instantly. She felt Ladli with both her hands and pulled her in her lap. Ladli took the puris from the box and gave them to Kaki.
Kaki asked, ‘Has your mother given them?’
Ladli said, ‘No, they are my share.’
Kaki pounced on them. The box of puris emptied within five minutes. Ladli asked, ‘Have you eaten your fill, Kaki?’
Just as a little rain, instead of cooling, causes more heat these few puris merely increased Kaki’s appetite. She said, ‘No, child. Go and get some more from your mother.’
Ladli answered, ‘Amma is sleeping; she will beat me if I wake her up.’
Kaki felt the inside of the toy box with her fingers. There were a few crumbs inside; she picked them up and ate them. She licked her lips several times, loudly and persistently.
She desperately wanted to eat more puris. When the dam of control bursts, the waves of desire become threateningly large. Kaki’s unsatisfied heart was swept away in the current of her appetite. She lost the ability to tell proper from improper. She tried to control herself, but then she gave up and told Ladli, ‘Hold my hand and take me where the guests had eaten.’
Ladli didn’t understand what Kaki meant to do. She took Kaki’s hand and made her sit beside a heap of used leaf-plates. The poor, old, senseless woman began to pick morsels of half-eaten food from the plates and eat them. Aah, the curd tasted so sweet! The kachoris were so delicious, so soft and crumbly! Despite being nearly senile, Kaki knew that she was doing something she ought not to. She knew she was licking the plates from which others had eaten. But old age is the last stage of the march of desires—when all desires collect into just one appetite. In Kaki’s case, it was appetite for food.
At that very moment Rupa happened to wake up. She felt for Ladli and found her missing from her side. Alarmed, she got up from the bed and began to look all around. She rose from the bed and spotted Ladli standing beside a heap of used leaf-plates. Beside her, Kaki was picking morsels of half-eaten food and stuffing them in her mouth. Rupa was shocked and horrified. She would have felt the same had she seen a cow being slaughtered. In front of her eyes, a Brahmin woman was eating the leftovers from other people’s used leaf-plates! She could not imagine a more shocking and sad scene. Her husband’s aunt was doing something so low and so horrible for the sake of a few morsels of food. This was a sight that could make the viewer tremble with horror. She felt as though the earth had stopped spinning on its axis and the sky was going to fall. Something terrible was waiting to happen. Rupa felt no anger. How could anger come close to such sorrow? Fear and pity made tears well up in her eyes. Who was responsible for this great crime? With a pure heart filled with real sorrow, she raised her hands towards heaven and begged, ‘Parmatma, have pity on my children. Do not punish me for this great wrong that I have done, or else I will be ruined.’
Rupa had never seen her selfishness and cruelty reflected so clearly before her eyes. She began to think, ‘Hai! I have been so cruel! I have made the woman whose property fetches me an annual income of 200 rupees suffer so badly! I have been so terribly wrong. May god forgive me! It was my son’s engagement today. I fed thousands of people. I ran around fulfilling everyone’s demands. I have spent thousands of rupees for the sake of keeping up my name and place in society, but I failed to feed the woman because of whom I was able to spend all those thousands of rupees. And why? Because she is old and helpless.’
Rupa lit a lamp, went inside her store, filled a tray with the different types of foods that had been prepared and came to Kaki.
Half the night had slipped away. Stars were scattered across the sky and sitting atop them, the gods were enjoying their divine meal, but none of them could have had greater pleasure than the sight of the tray laden with food Rupa gave to Kaki. Rupa spoke in a tearful voice, ‘Get up, Kaki, and eat your dinner. I have committed a great wrong today. Please forgive me. Pray that I am not punished for it.’
Like an innocent child who forgets the beatings and the scoldings when it is handed a sweet, Kaki too forgot everything and sat down to eat. She gave blessings and good wishes from every pore of her body and Rupa sat in front of her enjoying this heavenly sight.
4
The Tale of Two Oxen
The donkey is considered the stupidest animal. When we want to tell someone that he is totally lacking in intelligence, we call him a ‘donkey’. It is difficult to tell whether the donkey is truly without intelligence or whether its simplicity, patience and harmlessness have made it seem so. Cows can use their horns as weapons; those who have newly born calves can become as ferocious as lionesses. A dog is usually a harmless animal, but it too can sometimes get angry. But no one has ever heard of a donkey getting angry. You may hit the poor creature as much as you want. You can throw the most awful, rotten hay before it, but you wi
ll never see it looking dissatisfied. Sometimes, in the month of Baisakh, it might bray loudly. But I have never seen it looking particularly happy. A permanent sadness seems to be a constant feature of his appearance. I have never seen his expression change in good times or bad times, in times of profit or of loss. The traits that are usually found in saints are found in the highest degree in a donkey. Yet men call him stupid.
The donkey has a younger brother, and that is the ox. We tend to use the word ‘ox’ in the same way that we use the word ‘donkey’. Some people regard the ox as the biggest among fools, but I don’t agree. The ox can gore you with his horns, and sometimes he can be very stubborn. He expresses his unhappiness in many other ways. He is, therefore, not in the same category as the donkey.
A farmer called Jhuri belonging to the kachi community had two oxen, named Hira and Moti. They were of a good breed—good to look at, hard working, tall and well built. Having stayed together and worked together for so long, they had become like brothers. They would either sit facing each other or close beside and talk to each other in a silent language. No one can tell how one understood what was going on in the other’s mind. Certainly they had some hidden powers that man, who claims to be the most superior among all living things, does not possess. They would show their affection by sniffing or licking each other. Sometimes they would lock their horns—not to fight but out of love and companionship. After all, without such special closeness any friendship is meaningless. When they were yoked to a cart or a plough and they would shake their heads and start pulling the load, each would try his best to carry the maximum load and spare the other. When they were freed after a long, hard day’s work they would lick and sniff each other and feel refreshed. When their trough was filled with fodder, they would get up together, put their heads in the trough and sit side by side to eat. When one would finish, the other too would take his head out of the trough.
Once Jhuri sent the pair to his in-laws on loan. The poor oxen didn’t know where they were being sent or why; they thought their master had sold them off. Jhuri’s brother-inlaw had a tough time driving them home. If he pushed them forward, they would run to the right or the left but never ahead. If he pulled from the front, they would dig their heels in and pull backwards. If he whipped them, they would try to gore him with their horns. If god had given them the power of speech, they would have asked Jhuri, ‘Why are you sending us away? We have tried our best to serve you. If you are not satisfied with our work, we will try to work harder. We are willing to die working for you. We have never complained about anything. We have quietly eaten whatever you have given us. Why have you then sold us to this cruel man?’
By the evening the two oxen reached their new home. They hadn’t eaten all day, yet when they were brought to the trough, they would not even bring their heads close to it. Their hearts were heavy. They were sad at leaving what they had always considered their home. The new place, new village, new people—everything seemed strange.
The pair spoke to each other in their silent language. They looked at each other from the corners of their eyes and lay down. When the village lay fast asleep, they broke their ropes and started walking homewards. They had been secured with strong ropes. No one could have imagined that any oxen could break free, but these two were at that moment filled with a supernatural strength. They broke away with just one tug.
When Jhuri woke up in the morning, he saw the oxen standing at the trough. Half-broken ropes dangled from their necks. Their legs were covered in mud. Their eyes gleamed with love.
Jhuri too was very happy to see them. He ran and hugged them. That sight of man and beast hugging and kissing each other was wonderful.
Boys from far and near assembled to greet the oxen and welcome them back by clapping their hands. In the history of the village, this incident was important. The children decided that the two brave animals must be suitably ‘awarded’. Someone ran to fetch roti from their house, others gur, or choker, or hay.
One boy said, ‘No one can have such oxen.’
The other agreed, ‘They came alone from so far away!’
The third said, ‘They aren’t oxen; they were human beings in another birth.’
No one had the courage to disagree with such a statement.
Jhuri’s wife saw the oxen and was enraged. She said, ‘The disloyal creatures! They didn’t work there for even a single day! They ran away instead.’
Jhuri couldn’t stand such an accusation against his oxen. He said, ‘Why disloyal? If they weren’t fed there, what were the poor things to do?’
The wife answered with a lot of pride, ‘Yes, you are the only one who feeds his animals; others merely keep their animals on water.’
Jhuri teased her, ‘They wouldn’t have run if they had been fed.’
The wife got angry. ‘They ran away because my family doesn’t believe in spoiling animals with too much love. They give animals enough to eat, but they also know how to take work from them. These two are idlers and shirkers; that’s why they must have run away. I won’t give them oil cakes and fresh grass any more; they’ll get dry hay, that’s all. They can eat it or go hungry.’
And that is exactly what happened. She instructed the farm helper to give them nothing but dry hay.
The oxen put their faces in the trough and found tasteless fodder. No oil cakes, no sweet, juicy grass. What were they to eat? They began to look hopefully towards the door of their shed.
Jhuri came and asked the farm helper, ‘Why haven’t you given them any oil cakes?’
‘The mistress will kill me if I do!’
‘Do it when she is not looking.’
‘No, no, later you will also scold me.’
II
The next day, Jhuri’s brother-in-law came again to take the oxen away. This time he tied them to a bullock-cart so it would be easier to drive them.
A couple of times Moti tried to push the cart off the road into the ditch but Hira pulled it back. Of the two, Hira was more patient.
They reached their new home in the evening and were tied with stout ropes. To teach them a lesson for yesterday’s mischief, they were beaten and then given dry hay to eat. Jhuri’s brother-in-law gave his own oxen plenty of fresh juicy grass and lots of oil cakes.
Hira and Moti had never been treated so badly. Jhuri had always been kind and loving. At the smallest signal from him, the two would run like the wind. Here they were beaten and then humiliated by being given dry hay.
They didn’t even raise their faces to look towards the trough.
The next day, their new master, Gaya, yoked them to the plough. But these two had, it seems, taken a vow not to lift their legs. Gaya beat them so much that he became tired, yet the pair of oxen did not lift their legs. When cruel Gaya kept hitting Hira on the nose, Moti’s anger grew out of control. He ran away with the plough. The plough, rope, pin, harness—everything broke into pieces. If they didn’t have long ropes around their necks, it would have been impossible to catch them.
Hira spoke in his mute language, ‘It is futile to run.’
Moti answered, ‘He nearly killed you.’
‘This time he will beat us even more.’
‘Let him; after all, we have been born as oxen, how long can we escape the beatings?’
Gaya was running towards them with two men in tow. The men carried stout sticks.
Moti said, ‘What do you say—shall we give him a taste of his own medicine? Look at him, coming armed with sticks!’
Hira tried to reason with him, ‘No, brother. Stand still.’
‘If anyone beats me, I shall knock down one or two.’
‘No, that is not the way we do things.’
Moti controlled his anger. Gaya reached them and began pulling them away by the ropes. It was a good thing, he didn’t beat them right then, or else there would have been no stopping Moti. Gaya and his helpers took one look at Moti and understood that it was best to postpone punishments.
Again,
the same old dry hay was put before them. The two stood silently. Gaya’s family sat down to eat. A little girl came with two rotis and put one each in their mouth. Their hunger could not be slaked with that one roti, but their hearts certainly were filled to the brim. So, there were good people in this family too! The little girl had lost her mother. Her stepmother beat her often and she felt a certain fellow feeling with these oxen.
The two would be tied to the yoke all day long, beaten and whipped. In the evening they would be tied to a post. Every evening the little girl would come to feed them a roti each. Such was the wonder of this offering made out of love that despite the dry hay they were given every day, they did not become weak. But in their eyes and in every part of their body a strong sense of rebellion grew day by day.
One day, Moti spoke in his mute language, ‘I can bear it no more, Hira!’
‘What do you plan to do?’
‘I want to lift one or two of them on my horns and throw them far away.’
‘But don’t you know, that sweet little girl who feeds us a roti every day is his daughter? Won’t she become an orphan?’
‘Why don’t I throw the mistress? She beats the little girl every day.’
‘You forget, it is wrong to hurt a woman.’
‘If you won’t let me do it my way, tell me what you have in mind? Shall we break the ropes and run away again?’
‘Yes, I agree to that, but how will we break such strong ropes?’
‘There is a way out. First, let us chew the ropes a little. Then it will be easier to break them.’
At night when the little girl fed them a roti each and went away, they tried nibbling at their ropes. But they couldn’t get their teeth around the thick rope. They tried and tried but could not succeed.
