by Premchand
Tulia was engaged when she was only five. Her husband was a strong young man of eighteen years. After marrying her, he had gone to the East to earn his livelihood. He had thought it’d be ten to twelve years before this girl came of age. During this period, he could earn some wealth and then work his land with ease of mind. Tulia came of age, then she became old, but he never returned. For fifty years, he sent a letter every three months. The letter contained an envelope with the address to which the reply should be sent. The letter was accompanied by a money order of thirty rupees. In his letters, he described his helplessness and lamented his fate: What can I do, Tulia? I long to return, build my house and live with you happily. But everything depends on fate, we’ve no control over it. I’ll come only when God brings me. Please have patience. I’ll see to it that you’ve no difficulties as long as I live. I’ve taken my vows as your husband, and will continue to keep them till my death. Who knows what will happen when I meet my end.
All his letters conveyed the same sentiments with slight difference of phraseology. Of course, the letters that he wrote during his youth conveyed his pain of separation, but the more recent ones were full of despair. For Tulia all the letters were equally dear, they were quite close to her heart. She hadn’t torn a single letter—no one had the heart to tear them. They had made a thick bundle. The papers had lost colour, the ink had faded, but for Tulia they were a living reality. All of them were tied in red ribbon and stored in a box. They epitomized for her the love for her husband, accumulated over long years. These letters brought her happiness. She would often get someone to read them and she shed tears over them. On that day she would put oil in her hair, get sindoor on her hair parting and wear a colourful sari. She would touch the feet of her elders and take their blessings. Her love for her husband would rekindle. For women in the village whose husbands lived far away, a letter wasn’t something that they just read and threw away, it symbolized the life of their husbands, dearer than the body. This sentiment is devoid of physical cruelty or pollution and expresses yearnings of the soul and true love. For Tulia, the letters were a substitute for her husband. She hadn’t seen him in any other form.
Women teased her, ‘Aunty, do you have any memory of Uncle? You must’ve seen him.’
Tulia’s face would light up for a moment amidst the wrinkles that criss-crossed it, her eyes would sparkle. She would say, ‘Why shouldn’t I have any memory of him? His shape is before my eyes even today. He had large eyes, blood red. His forehead was broad and his chest was wide. He had a robust body, the like of which is rare these days. His teeth were pearl-white, son. He was wearing a red kurta. When we got married, I told him, “I won’t go to your house unless you get a lot of jewellery made for me.” It was childishness, son; there was no question of shame or modesty then. Hearing this, he burst into a peal of laughter, placed me on his shoulders, and said, “I’ll have a lot of jewellery made for you, Tulia; how much can you wear? I’m going faraway to earn a livelihood. I’ll send you money from there; you can then get a lot of jewellery made. I’ll even bring a case of jewels with me when I’ll return from there.” Son, I was sent in a palanquin to my in-laws’ house; how on earth would my parents be capable of inviting my husband to our house along with the baraatis! It was only at his place that I was betrothed to him. Within a single day, he had impressed me so much that when he was leaving, I embraced him, cried, and said, “Take me along with you. I’ll cook for you, prepare your bed and clean your dhoti.” A couple of people his age were sitting there. Right before them, he smiled and said in my ears, “And won’t you sleep with me?” That was it. I detached myself from him and stood at a distance. I then hurled a stone at him and said, “You better not abuse me, I’m telling you!”’
And through daily reminiscence and rosary, this life story had become a life mantra. Her face made quite a sight at such moments! It glowed! She would remove her veil, gesticulate, turn her face and smile as though there were no sorrows in her life. She would recount the sacred memories of her life and flash this light from the depth of her heart that saved her from the thorns of life for a hundred years. What a longing it was that couldn’t be wiped out by the hard realities of life.
2
There was a time when Tulia was a young woman. She was beautiful and moths would hover around the candle of her beauty. When she narrated in her trembling voice with her tearful eyes the tales of their love and madness and surrender, the souls of these martyrs probably danced in heaven. What they didn’t get when alive, Tulia was now giving them with both hands. She was a full-blooded woman. Wherever she went, young men pined for her. There was a Thakur whose name was Bansi Singh. He was a carefree and fun-loving young man whose songs reverberated far into the desolation of the night. He made rounds of Tulia’s house a hundred times a day. He followed her like a shadow, on the bank of the pond, in the fields near the well, indeed wherever she went. Sometimes he took milk to her house, and sometimes buttermilk. He’d say, ‘Tulia, I don’t want anything from you. Just accept whatever gift I give you. Don’t talk to me if you don’t want to, don’t look at my face if you don’t feel like, but please don’t turn down my gifts. I’ll be happy if you accept them.’ Tulia wasn’t so innocent. She knew very well that he was simply biding for an opportunity. But one day, she somehow got into the trap—no, not really—she, in fact, took pity on his youth. One day, he brought her a basket of mangoes, freshly plucked from the orchard. Tulia had never eaten such freshly plucked mangoes. She took the basket from him. From then on, he began to gift her a basket of mangoes every other day. One day, when Tulia took the basket from him and was entering her house, Bansi quietly caught her hand and placed it on his chest. He fell at her feet and said, ‘Tulia, if you don’t take pity on me even now, then kill me today. Let me die in your hands. This is my only wish.’
Tulia flung the basket on the ground, disentangled her legs, moved one step back, and said with wrathful eyes, ‘Enough, Thakur, go away from here, else either you won’t live or I won’t. Your mangoes can rot for all I care. Is my husband only living for my sake across the black sea miles away from here so that I should be false to him? He is a man who earns his livelihood; couldn’t he afford another wife? Is there any dearth of women in the world? But he hasn’t done it for my sake, even being a man. He is no less sturdy than you, even if he may not be as glamorous. Do you want to read the letters that he sent to me? Wherever he is, he sends money to me regularly, even though I don’t ask him to. Is he doing all this so that I entertain other men? As long as he’ll consider me as his own, Tulia will stay loyal to him, in mind as well as in actions. When I was married to him, I was a wayward girl of five years. What happiness could I have given him? But he has stayed loyal to the bond. Being a man if he can be loyal, how can I be disloyal to him being a woman?’
Tears were streaming down the Thakur’s face and his lips were fluttering. It looked as though he wanted to be swallowed by the earth.
After a moment, he folded his hands and said, ‘I’ve committed a great crime, Tulia. I haven’t known you well. The proper punishment for this is that you kill me right at this moment. A sinner like me can obtain salvation only in this way.’
Tulia didn’t take pity on him. She felt that this man was still trying to hoodwink her. She said, annoyed, ‘You should die, if you want to. Are there no wells in the world? Can’t you find a sword or a dagger? Why should I bother to kill anyone?’
The Thakur looked at her with despairing eyes, ‘So this is your command?’
‘Why should you wait for my command? Those wanting to die don’t wait for anyone’s command.’
The Thakur went away. The following day people saw his body floating in the river. They thought that he must have gone for a bath in the river early in the morning and had drowned. People talked about him for months, but Tulia didn’t utter a word. She stopped going in that direction.
As soon as Bansi Singh died, his younger brother took over his property and began to torment the w
idow and son. Her devar found fault with her and his wife made caustic comments. Eventually, the hapless widow couldn’t bear it any more and left the house for good. The village was deep in sleep. Tulia had taken her dinner and was going to feed the cow some roti, holding the lantern in her hand. He saw the widow of the Thakur in the light of the lantern, advancing slowly. She was crying and wiping her tears with her sari. She was holding her three-year-old son with her arms.
Tulia asked her, ‘Where are you going, thakurain, at this late hour? Listen, what is the matter? Oh dear, you’re crying.’
The thakurain was going away from her house, but she herself didn’t know where. With stoic eyes, she looked once at Tulia and moved forward without saying anything. How could she reply? Her throat was already filled with tears and she didn’t know why they were brimming over, all the more at this instant.
Tulia came before her and said, ‘Unless you tell me, I won’t allow you to go even a step further.’
The thakurain stopped, filled her tearful eyes with fury, and said, ‘Why do you ask? It’s none of your business.’
‘None of my business? Don’t we live in the same village? If the villagers won’t help each other out in their moments of sorrow and distress, then who’ll do so?’
‘Whoever supports anyone these days in this world, Tulia? Whom should I expect from, when my own in-laws didn’t support me and became bloodthirsty as soon as your bhaiya passed away? Isn’t everything known to you regarding the situation of our house? There is no place for me there. The very devar and devarani for whom I did everything, have now become my enemies. They just want us to be satisfied with a mere roti and want us to lie in a corner like orphans. I’m not a concubine and I didn’t elope either. I’m a married woman; I was betrothed amidst people belonging to ten different villages. I won’t relinquish even the least bit of my property. They may not give me anything now as I’m helpless. I may lose all my self-respect, but I’ll ruin them and will certainly take my half.’
‘Your bhaiya,’—these two words felt so dear to Tulia that she hugged the thakurain, held her hands, and said, ‘In that case, sister, come and stay in my house. Others may support you or not, but Tulia will certainly support you till her death. My house is not suitable for your stay, but at least there is peace in it, if nothing else. And I’m still your sister, no matter how lowly I may be.’
The thakurain fixed her astonished gaze at Tulia’s face. ‘It shouldn’t happen that my devar should become your enemy too, behind my back.’
‘I’m not scared of my enemies and I don’t live alone in this hamlet either.’
‘But I don’t want you to get into trouble because of me.’
‘Who is going to tell them anyway, and who’ll ever find out that you’re inside my house?’
The thakurain found some solace. She hesitantly came inside with Tulia. Her heart was heavy. Someone who was the landlady of a stately concrete mansion was lying in this shack today.
There was only one cot in the house; the thakurain would sleep on it with her child. Tulia slept on the floor. There was only one blanket—the thakurain covered herself with it while Tulia would spend her nights by covering herself with a sackcloth.
She would only think about how to look after her guests properly. She would wash the thakurain’s utensils, wash her clothes and feed her baby with utmost sincerity. It was as though she was worshipping a deity. The thakurain couldn’t forget her status even though she had fallen on bad days. She was vain, brainless, and loved luxury. She lived there as though it was her own house and treated Tulia with such aggression as though she was her slave. But Tulia was maintaining her relationship with the wife of her unfortunate lover. She didn’t mind her bad behaviour. There was never a frown on her face.
One day, the thakurain said, ‘Tulia, please look after the child. I’ll go somewhere for a couple of days. The way it is going, I’ll sponge on you throughout my life for my daily bread, but how will my heart’s fire be cooled? That shameless person doesn’t even care where his brother’s wife has gone. He must be happy in the thought that the only obstacle standing in his way has been removed. The moment he gets to know that I’ve not gone to my parents’ house but stayed elsewhere, he’ll promptly try to spread slander against me, and then the entire society will be on his side. I should think of a way out of this.
Tulia asked, ‘Where do you want to go, sister? Do you mind if I accompany you? Where will you go alone?’
‘I’ll look for a way to beat him at his own game .’
Tulia couldn’t understand the meaning of this. She stared at her face.
The thakurain asked brazenly, ‘You couldn’t even understand such a simple thing! So, you want me to spell it out clearly? What weapon does a widow have for her defence other than her beauty? Now, I’ll only take recourse to this weapon. Do you even know what the price of this beauty shall be? It’ll be that wolf’s head! My charm will only work on whosoever may be the lord of this district’s subdivision. And what man has ever been able to escape a maiden’s charm even though he might be an ascetic? My dharma may get compromised for all I care. I can’t bear to watch myself plucking leaves from various forests while that rogue twists his whiskers and rules here.’
Tulia realized how deep the wound was in this vain woman’s heart. She was not only living her life on the edge, but was also sacrificing her dharma to placate her anguish. That very dharma that was dearer to her than her own life. The supplicating image of Bansi Singh appeared before her eyes. He was strong and could’ve easily used force against Tulia. And who would’ve saved her on that desolate night? But her reprimanding virtue captivated Bansi Singh in such a way as a deadly, black cobra gets intoxicated by listening to the melodious tune of a fiddle. The honour of that very hero’s family was at stake today. Will Tulia allow this honour to be tainted and do nothing? No, it can’t be! If Bansi Singh could privilege her virtue above his own life, then she too would preserve the thakurain’s honour with her dharma.
She consoled the thakurain and said, ‘Sister, don’t go anywhere now. First let me test my strength. Who’ll mock at me even if I lose my reputation? The honour of an entire family depends on your personal honour.’
The thakurain looked her with a smiling face. She said, ‘What do you know about this art, Tulia?’
‘What art?’
‘Oh, the very skill of duping men.’
‘Why, am I not a woman or what?’
‘But you don’t know about men’s character, do you?’
‘Oh, both of us have learnt about it from our mothers’ wombs.’
‘But tell me, what is it that you plan to do?’
‘Oh, the very same that you were planning to. You wanted to work your charm on the ruler of this district’s subdivision while I’ll cast my spell on your devar.’
‘He’s very shrewd, Tulia.’
‘That’s what I want to see.’
3
Tulia spent the rest of the night thinking about the scheme and its execution. Like a skilled army commander, she had prepared a strategy that was similar to that of attack and carnage. She was convinced of victory. The rival was unsuspecting; he didn’t even have the slightest idea about this attack.
Bansi Singh’s younger brother Girdhar was haughtily coming this way with a thick club, six-feet long, on his shoulders when Tulia called out to him, ‘Thakur, please pick this bundle of grass and put it on my head. I can’t do it.’
It was noon. The labourers had returned from their fields. Whirlwinds had started blowing. Tulia stood under a tree with the bundle of grass. Her head was sweating profusely.
The Thakur looked at her in surprise. At that very instant, Tulia’s sari slipped away and her red blouse flashed before his eyes. She quickly arranged her sari. But the flower braids in her hair in haste dazzled his eyes like lightning. Girdhar’s mind became restless. His eyes showed mild intoxication and his face turned crimson while a faint smile played on his lips. Every vein of his body b
ecame taut.
He had seen Tulia a thousand times with thirsty, lusty eyes. But Tulia, lost in the vanity of her beauty and chastity, didn’t look at him, ever. Her gestures showed such rudeness and cruelty that the Thakur would feel dispirited and his urges vanished. What impact could his net and food have on a bird flying freely in the sky? But today that bird had come on its own and was sitting on the nearby branch, and it seemed as though she was hungry too. Then why shouldn’t he cast his net and throw his food?
He said in an intoxicated tone, ‘I’ll take the bundle to your home, you needn’t carry it on your head.’
‘And if someone sees it, what’ll he think of you?’
‘I don’t care if the dogs bark.’
‘But I do.’
The Thakur didn’t listen to her. He heaved the bundle on his head. He was marching ahead as though he had got the wealth of the world.
4
A month passed by. Tulia had cast her spell on the Thakur and now she was playing with him as though he was a fish. Sometimes she would loosen the hook, while tightening it on other occasions. The Thakur had set out for hunting, but was himself trapped in the net.
Despite sacrificing his faith and his status, he couldn’t receive the Goddess’s blessings. Tulia was still at the same distance that she was at before.
One day, he said to Tulia, ‘For how long will you tantalize me like this, Tulia? Come, let’s elope somewhere.’
Tulia further tightened the noose and replied, ‘Yes, that’s what I thought. I won’t be of any worth if you’ll turn your face away from me. I’ll lose both the worlds.’
