by Premchand
‘They sit down to dinner and order us to fetch fresh water. They don’t even give us enough money to buy a new water jug.’
‘I think men like to order us about when they see us sitting idle.’
‘Yes, they will never even think of picking up the bucket and drawing water themselves. They give an order for fresh water and expect us to run and get it, as though we are their slaves.’
‘But you are a slave. You are fed and clothed, but never paid for your labour. You may save a few rupees from your master, but that is all you have. What are you, then, if not a slave?’
‘Don’t tease me, sister. I don’t get a minute to myself. If I worked like this in someone else’s home, I would have led a far more comfortable life and got some gratitude too. Here, I can kill myself working like a slave and no one will care!’
The two women filled their pots and went away. Gangi crept out from the shadows and walked slowly towards the well. The idlers had gone home by now. The Thakur too had shut his door and was, probably, on his way to bed. Gangi drew a sigh of relief. At last, she could do what she had come here to do. The prince who had gone to steal nectar from the gods* could not have shown greater care than Gangi did at this moment. As she crept closer to the well, she began to feel excited, as though victory was close at hand and she would be successful in her mission.
She fastened the rope around the mouth of her pot, then darted a quick, alert look all around her like a soldier waiting to climb the enemy’s fortress under the cover of darkness. She knew that if she was caught red-handed, there would be nothing to save her. With a silent prayer, she gathered her courage and dropped the pot over the rim of the well. It wobbled a bit on the surface, then went under without a sound. Gangi pulled urgently at the rope and within seconds it reached the top of the well. The strongest man in the village couldn’t have pulled that pot faster.
Gangi bent to lift the pot and loosen the rope when suddenly, the Thakur’s door flew open. At that moment, the wide open mouth of a lion would have been less fearsome to Gangi.
The rope slipped from her hand. With that, the pot too fell into the water with a loud splash. The sound of water lapping against the pot could be heard.
The Thakur ran towards the well shouting, ‘Who is it? Who is there?’
Gangi leapt from the well and ran. She reached home to see Jokhu raising the tumbler of foul-smelling water to his lips.
* * *
*According to popular Indian mythology, a prince was asked to go to heaven and steal amrit, the nectar that makes the gods immortal and lets them stay forever young.
10
Idgah
Id has come after a whole month of fasting during Ramzan. The day dawns with a special brilliance. The trees seem greener. The fields look brighter. The sky is a clear blue. And look at the sun! It seems to be sending out a special Id greeting to the world through its gentle, warm light. The village is astir with excitement.
People are getting ready to go to the Idgah. Someone has just found out that his buttons are missing from his kurta; he has gone running to the neighbours to get needle and thread. Others are hurrying to feed the bullocks; it will be late afternoon by the time they return from the Idgah. They have to travel almost six miles on foot and then there will be so many people to meet and greet. There is no way they can return before noon.
The boys are the happiest of the lot. Some have kept just one fast, and that too for half a day, others haven’t even done that; but no one can take away their joy in going to the Idgah. Let the elderly keep the fasts; they are happy with their Id! They have been waiting for this day for months. Now they are anxious to reach the Idgah. What do boys have to do with domestic matters? They don’t care whether there is milk and sugar at home for the special seviyan that shall be made; they only know that they shall eat lots of seviyan today. Little do they know why their poor father is running desperately towards Chaudhry Kayam Ali’s house. Nor do they know that if the Chaudhry were to turn his face away their Id would turn into a day of mourning. Their little pockets are filled with the treasures of Kuber, the god of wealth. They take out their hoard from the pockets and count every paisa—again and again—and put it safely back.
Mehmood counts—one, two . . . ten, twelve. He has twelve paise. Mohsin has one, two, three . . . eight, nine . . . fifteen. With these countless paise they shall buy countless things— toys, sweets, bugles, balls and god knows what else. The happiest of them all is Hamid: a thin, sickly-looking boy of four or five whose father died last year of cholera and whose mother kept becoming paler and paler till she too died one day. No one knew what ailed her. She told no one of her troubles, for there was no one to listen to her. She suffered silently and when she could take it no more she quietly departed from this world. Now Hamid sleeps in his grandmother Ameena’s lap and he is no less happy. He thinks his father has gone away to earn lots of money and one day he will return with bags of money. And his mother has gone to Allah’s house from where she will return with lots of nice things for him. This is enough to make Hamid happy. Hope is a great thing, and there is nothing like the hope of a child. A child’s imagination can make a mountain out of a grain of rye.
Hamid has no shoes on his feet. On his head, he wears a tattered old cap whose gold lace has turned black with age. But he is happy. When his father returns with bagfuls of money and his mother with goodies, he will get everything his heart hungers for. Then he will see how Mehmood, Mohsin, Noore and Sammi can match his wealth.
Poor, unfortunate Ameena is sitting at the door of her humble home and crying. It is Id today and she does not have a grain of food in her house. Had her son, Abid, been alive would Id have come and gone like this? She is lost in the darkness of despair and hopelessness. Who had called this good-for-nothing Id? There is no use for it in this household! But Hamid has no such cares. He is unconcerned by such dark thoughts. There is light inside him and brightness in the world outside. Let misfortune come with all its strength; it will face defeat in front of Hamid’s happy face.
Hamid enters the house and tells his grandmother, ‘Don’t be scared,Amma, I shall be the first to return. Don’t be scared at all.’
Ameena’s heart is twisting in her chest. The other boys are going with their fathers; Hamid has no one except Ameena. Can she let him go alone? What if he were to get lost in that crowd? No, no, how can she let him go alone? He is a little boy, after all, how can he walk six miles? He will get blisters on his feet. He doesn’t even have shoes on his feet. If she were to go along she could pick him up every now and then and carry him. But if she goes, who will cook the seviyan? If she had enough money, she could have bought the necessary ingredients on the way back. But since she has no money she has to depend on borrowing. It will take her hours to collect everything.
The other day she had stitched clothes for Fahiman for which she had been paid eight annas. She had been holding on to those eight annas for dear life for this Id. But yesterday the milkman’s wife had insisted on getting the money due to her. Poor Hamid, he needs to be given two-paise worth of milk at the very least. After paying for the milk, Ameena is left with only two annas—three paise in Hamid’s pocket and five in Ameena’s purse. That is all they have, and it is Id today! Allah alone is their saviour. The washerwoman, the barber’s wife, the sweepress, the bangle-seller—they will all come to greet her on the occasion of Id. They will all expect their share of seviyan, and they will not be happy with a little. How will poor Ameena escape from them? And why should she? Id comes once a year. It is the time to give to the poor and to take their blessings. May god keep her Hamid safe. This day too shall pass somehow.
II
The crowd left the village. And Hamid left with a group of boys. Sometimes they ran ahead and waited under a tree for the others to catch up. Why were the elders walking so slowly? Hamid had wings on his feet. How could he tire? They had reached the outskirts of the city. The orchards of the rich lined both sides of the road. They were en
closed by brick walls. Inside, there were trees laden with mangoes and litchis. Every now and then, a boy picked up a pebble and aimed at a mango. The gardener guarding the trees came out shouting abuses. The boys had run off by then and were busy having a good laugh at fooling the gardener.
Tall buildings began to appear. There was the court, and there the College, and that was the Clubhouse. How many boys must be studying in such a large College! They were not boys; they were men! They were grown-up; they even had big moustaches, and yet they were still studying! God knew how long they would keep studying and what they would do with all their studies. There were a couple of big boys in Hamid’s madarsa; they were the good-for-nothing-types who ran away from work and were beaten every day. Surely, those sort of people must be ending up here. All sorts of magic were performed at the Clubhouse. They said the skulls of dead men ran about and many great magical feats were performed, but no one was allowed to go inside. The sahebs come here in the evenings to play—some had big moustaches and beards—and some came with their memsahebs who played as well. Try handing a bat to our mothers, they won’t even know how to hold one. They will take one swipe with it and fall over!
Mehmood said, ‘My Ammi jaan’s hand will start shaking if she tries, I swear!’
Mohsin said, ‘But she can pound kilos of wheat and you are saying her hand will tremble if she holds a bat! She draws countless pots of water from the well. My buffalo drinks at least five pots of water. Let one of these mems draw even one pot of water from a well, then they will know!’
Mehmood said, ‘But our mothers don’t run about and play.’
‘They don’t play,’ Mohsin agreed, ‘but just the other day when my cow got loose and ran into the Chaudhry’s field, my mother ran so fast that even I couldn’t keep pace with her!’
They kept walking. Shops selling sweetmeats began to appear beside the road. The shops were brightly decorated. Who could eat so many sweets? Each shop had kilos of sweets. One boy said, ‘People say ghosts come at night and buy all the sweets. My father says a man appears at midnight, gets all the sweets weighed and pays real money for them.’
Hamid found this hard to believe. He said, ‘Where would the ghost get real money?’
Mohsin said, ‘There is no shortage of money for ghosts. They can get into any treasure house they want. Even iron doors can’t stop them. They have lots of diamonds and jewels. If they are happy with someone, they shower them with jewels. They will be sitting here right beside you one minute, and five minutes later they would have reached Calcutta.’
Hamid asked, ‘These ghosts must be huge creatures?’
Mohsin answered, ‘A single ghost can reach up till the sky. If he stands on the earth, his head touches the sky. But, when he wants, he can get into a pot.’
Hamid asked, ‘How does one please them? If someone were to tell me the mantra to please a ghost, I would do it immediately.’
Mohsin said, ‘I don’t know how it is done, but Chaudhry saheb has several ghosts under his control. If something is stolen, Chaudhry saheb knows how to find it and also who stole it. The other day Jumrati’s calf got lost. He looked all over for three days without any luck. Then he went to Chaudhry saheb who told him instantly that the calf was to be found in the animal shed, and there it was! The ghosts come and tell him what is happening in the whole world.’
Now Hamid understood why Chaudhry saheb had so much money and fame.
They kept walking. There was the Police Line. This was where the constables paraded. All night long they went and round keeping guard, or else there would be so many thefts. Mohsin countered, ‘These constables don’t guard! They are the ones who get all the thefts done. All the thieves and dacoits in the city are known to them. They tell the thieves to commit thefts in one neighbourhood while they themselves go to another neighbourhood and pretend to stand guard. And that is why these people are so rich. My uncle is a constable. He earns 20 rupees every month as salary, yet he sends 50 rupees home every month. I had once asked him where he got so much money from. And he had laughed and said, “Son, god gives it. ” And then he said, “I only take that much which won’t bring me a bad name and won’t cause me to lose my job. ”’
Hamid asked, ‘If these people get the thefts done, how is it that they never get caught?’
Mohsin pitied such innocence. He said, ‘Who can catch them, you fool? They are the ones who catch people. But god punishes them. Ill-gotten gains bring no good. A few days ago, my uncle’s house caught fire. He lost everything; not one vessel was spared. For several days he had to sleep under a tree. Then he took 100 rupees on loan from somewhere and bought pots and pans for the house.’
Hamid said, ‘A 100 is more than 50.’
‘Obviously. If 50 rupees fill one bag, then 100 rupees fill two bags.’
The houses were closely packed now. Crowds of people could be seen going towards the Idgah. Each person was dressed in bright, colourful clothes. Some were travelling in horse-drawn wagons, others rode in motor cars. Everyone was bathed in the sweet scent of ittr; everyone was filled with excitement. The small group of villagers, unaware of being in any way different from others, was lost in their own world of patience and contentment. For the children in that group, everything about the city was strange. Their eyes were glued to the things around them. Even the persistent sound of the horn could not break the spell. Hamid was so intent on looking around that he nearly got run over by a car.
Suddenly, they saw the Idgah. A dense cluster of tamarind trees gave shade. The floor was pucca and covered with a mat. The lines of the faithful stretched far beyond the mat-covered floor. Those who came in late took their place in the last rows. If there was no space left in the front rows, even the high and mighty stood at the back. Everyone is equal in the eyes of Islam. The villagers too performed the ritual ablutions called wuzoo and took their place in the back row. Everything looked so beautifully organized and orchestrated. Lakhs of heads bent down together. And then they rose simulatneously. The mass of people bent, then sat with their knees folded behind them in perfect accord. This action was repeated several times. It looked as though lakhs of electric bulbs were switched on, then off, simultaneously. It was a wonderful sight to behold. It filled the onlooker’s heart with pride, respect and joy. All these people here seemed to be strung together on a single thread of brotherhood.
III
The prayer ended. People began to embrace each other. And then the attack began on the shops selling sweets and toys. The group of villagers was in no way less excited than the children. Look, there! There is the swing! You can ride it for one paisa. One minute you will feel you are climbing up to the sky, the next minute you will feel you are falling to the ground. Look there! There is the spinning wheel! And wooden elephants, horses, camels hanging from the carousel. You can enjoy twenty-five rounds for one paisa. Mehmood, Mohsin, Noore and Sammi sit astride these wooden animals. Hamid stood some distance away. He had only three paise. He couldn’t give away one-third of his treasure for a few minutes of pleasure.
The boys got off the carousel. Now they were going to buy toys. There was a long line of toy shops. You could get all sorts of toys—the soldier and the village girl, the king and the lawyer, the water carrier and washerwoman and the sadhu. They were so beautiful and lifelike, as though they would speak any minute. Ahmad bought a soldier, dressed in khaki uniform and red turban, carrying a gun on his shoulder. It looked as though it had just come from a parade. Mohsin liked the water carrier. Its waist was bent under the weight of the water bag. It held the mouth of the water bag in one hand. It looked so happy. Perhaps it was singing a song. It looked as though any minute it would start pouring water from its water bag. Noore had fallen in love with the lawyer. There was such intelligence on its face! It was dressed in a black gown over a long white coat with a gold watch hanging on a gold chain from its front pocket. It held a legal file in one hand and looked as though it had just come after arguing a case in a court of law. T
he toys were worth two paise each. Hamid had only three paise; how could he buy such expensive toys? These toys would shatter into small pieces if they were to fall from his hands. The tiniest splash of water would make their colour run. What would Hamid do with such toys? What good were they for him?
Mohsin said, ‘My water carrier will fetch water twice a day, morning and evening.’
Mehmood said, ‘And my soldier will guard my home. If a thief comes, he will fire at him with his gun.’
Noore said, ‘My lawyer will fight all my cases.’
Sammi said, ‘My washerwoman will wash my clothes every day.’
Hamid found fault with the toys. ‘They are made of clay. They will shatter the minute they fall.’ But he also looked at them with envious eyes. How he wished he could hold one in his hands for a few minutes. Unthinkingly, he stretched his hand out, but boys are not so giving—especially with a new toy! Poor Hamid was left eyeing them enviously.
The sweet shops came after the toy shops. Someone bought rewri, another gulab jamun, yet another chose sohan halwa. Everyone was enjoying the treats—everyone except poor Hamid. The poor thing had only three paise. He looked on with hungry eyes.
Mohsin said, ‘Hamid, come and take this rewri. See, it smells so nice!’
Hamid was a bit doubtful. He knew it was a cruel joke; Mohsin was never generous. Still, he went up to Mohsin. Mohsin plucked a rewri and pretended to give it to Hamid. Hamid stretched his hand to accept it, but Mohsin snatched it back and popped it in his own mouth. Mehmood, Noore and Sammi clapped their hands and laughed loudly. Poor Hamid looked sheepish.
Mohsin said, ‘This time I shall give you one, I swear on Allah. Here, take it.’
Hamid answered, ‘Keep it. Do you think I don’t have money?’
