by Premchand
Mulia replied, ‘I have committed a crime. Please forgive me.’
Kallu sat up and said, ‘What is it? Why are you crying?’
‘Raja had not come to ask for tobacco. I was lying.’
Kallu laughed, ‘I knew it.’
‘He had brought a chundari for me.’
‘So you gave it back to him?’
Mulia shivered as she said, ‘I took it. He threatened to poison himself if I did not take it.’
Kallu fell like a lifeless being on to the bed. He said, ‘This beauty is beyond me. God has made me ugly, so how can I become attractive?’
Even if Kallu had thrown Mulia into a cauldron, she would not have suffered as much pain as she did now.
4
Kallu was very dejected after the incident. No enthusiasm and happiness remained in his life. He forgot how to laugh and talk. He had misunderstood Mulia and felt that she had cheated on him. Mulia’s admission had deeply stung his heart. Now, his home was just another place to eat and sleep, and Mulia merely a machine to serve food. His sources of pleasure were limited to his frequent visits to a tavern and drugs.
Mulia was deeply frustrated seeing Kallu in such a state. She wanted to erase the feeling of distrust from his heart, and so she served him with all the care and love she had to offer. She tried her best to keep him happy, but it bore no fruit. The more she tried to pacify him, the more anxious he got, like a fish caught on a hook.
Fortunately, the British officer under whom Raja worked as a cook was transferred and Raja went away with him. Otherwise, chances of one killing the other were high.
A year passed like this.
One day, Kallu returned home with a fever. Next day, there were spots all over his body. Mulia thought it was measles, so she started praying to the goddess. However, the spots turned into boils after four or five days. It was found later that he was suffering from syphilis.
The disease was the result of Kallu’s unhealthy lifestyle and sexual escapades.
His condition worsened as the boils filled up with pus, which reeked. Mulia treated Kallu with what she could afford in the village but his condition deteriorated with each passing day. She tried to compensate for the absence of medicine with her immense love and selfless service to Kallu. She had to work harder now to run the house as well.
Kallu was reaping the fruits of his sins. Mulia effaced herself completely while she looked after him. She had just one source of satisfaction, which was that Kallu’s misunderstanding was gradually disappearing because of all her effort. He regained his trust in Mulia, that she was still his—his wife. If he got well now, he would hide her in his heart and worship her.
One morning, when Mulia was helping Kallu wash his face and giving him his medicine while fanning him, he said to her with tearful eyes, ‘Mulia! I must have done some good work in my previous birth to have got a wife like you. I would not exchange you for the world’s biggest empire.’
Mulia covered his mouth with her hands and said that she would cry if he said such things to her. ‘It’s my good luck that I have got a husband like you.’ She put her arms around his neck and hugged him.
She said, ‘God has punished me for my sins.’
Kallu asked her curiously, ‘Tell me the truth, Mula. What happened between you and Raja?
Mulia was shocked. ‘There was nothing between the two of us. Let God punish me if there was something between us. He had given me a chundari. I took it from him and burnt it. I have not spoken to him since then.’
Kallu sighed in relief. ‘I misunderstood you. I doubted your fidelity, Mulia. I had lost my senses. I blamed you and indulged in sinful acts. I am paying for my sins now.’
He started crying and narrated his misdeeds to Mulia as she listened. She too was crying. She would have poisoned herself had she not been worried about her husband.
5
After some months, when Raja returned home on leave, he learnt about Kallu’s deadly disease. He felt very happy and started visiting his house on the pretext of tending to Kallu.
Kallu turned his face whenever he saw Raja. But this did not deter Raja from visiting three or four times a day.
One day Raja stood at the door of the kitchen and asked Mulia, ‘Bhabhi! Won’t you still have mercy on me? You are so indifferent. You kept running away from me while I was yearning for you. Bhaiya will not get well now. His condition has become critical. Why are you ruining your life with him? Your flower-like body is all dried up. Come with me; let us relish the pleasures of life. This youth will not be around forever. See, I have brought these earrings for you. Wear them once for my sake.’
Mulia did not even look at them. Keeping her eyes on the stove, she said, ‘Lala, I will touch your feet, please leave me alone. Don’t do this to me. You are the one who brought this tragedy upon us. You are my enemy. Are you not ashamed to say your bhaiya is not worth anything now? I like him more than before now. Had I not been around, he would have married again. Today, he is dependent on me. If I betray him in this hour of need, I will be the greatest sinner.’
Raja laughed, ‘You speak like one who, after he spills his curry, says he always preferred it like that.’
Mulia lifted her head and told him firmly, her eyes bright now, ‘What do you say, Lala? You are nothing in comparison to my husband, not even the dust of his feet. A man does not become handsome just by wearing bright clothes and bearing good looks. I do not consider any other man as my husband’s equal.’
Kallu called to her. ‘Mula! Give me some water.’ Mulia ran to him with water. The earrings lay in the courtyard, rejected.
Raja quickly picked them up and left the house in anger.
6
Kallu’s disease worsened. Had he received proper treatment, he would have recovered, but what could Mulia have done on her own? Poverty and disease are not the best companions.
The final call for Kallu came at last. When Mulia came to attend to Kallu after her housework, she saw him taking laboured breaths. She trembled with fear and asked, ‘How are you feeling?’
Kallu looked at her tearfully, folded his hands and lowered his head.
He bade farewell to the world. Mulia rested her head on his chest and wept bitterly. She was deeply hurt and words from her heart trickled like drops of blood—Could you not see us together even this way, God! And people call you just and kind! Did you bring us into this world to toy with our lives? Is it a game for you? You were not so callous! Oh God!
She called out to her Kallu, ‘You have left me alone, who will call me Mula now? For whom shall I pull out water from the well? For whom will I make food? Whom will I feed and fan now? You have taken away my happiness, my only pleasure. Why not take me with you!’
The entire village gathered there. Everyone tried to pacify her but Mulia could not regain her calm. She was broken. ‘All this happened because of me.’ She could not forget her sorrow. Had God given her the strength, her husband, the centre of her life, would not have left her like this.
Preparations were made for the last rites.
7
Six months have passed since Kallu died. Mulia earns her own living now, eats and stays at home. She does not get any respite from the day’s hard work. But yes, she often cries during lonely nights.
Meanwhile, Raja’s wife had also passed away. He started roaming around the village like a loafer just days after her death. Earlier, he was at least fearful of the domestic scuffle. Now, there was no one to stop him. This time when he returned on leave, he went straight to Mulia’s house and said, ‘Bhabhi, will you not fulfil my desire now or is there still something left to be done? Bhaiya is no more. Even my wife has died. I have forgotten her. How long will you bemoan his absence?’
Mulia looked at him with hatred and said, ‘Your bhaiya is no more but nothing has changed for me. His memories are still with me. His love and his face are still alive in my heart. His voice still rings in my ears. He is as alive for me now as he was earlier. He might have died
for you but I see him sitting in front of me just as before. Earlier, we were still different bodies. Now, he has entered my soul and come closer to me than ever before. We have become one.’
She said, ‘No one bothers about food in a fully stocked home; its importance is only realized when the house is empty. The rich do not care for the wads of money lying in their treasury but the poor worship every single penny they have. A poor man holds on to every cowrie for fear of losing it. God has not given you a heart, you see! So you do not know the importance of a spouse’s company. It has not been more than six months since your wife passed away and here you are, a loose bull. Had you died instead of her, would she too have gone to seek solace in someone else’s arms? I know for sure, had I died, my husband would have cried for me throughout his life. Wives die for such husbands and become satis. People like you can only lick from half-eaten plates. It is your fate. Lick it! But beware, don’t you dare step into my house after this day, otherwise you will lose your life for sure! Just get out!’
Her face was so radiant and her words so cutting that Raja did not dare speak a word in response. He stepped out of the house quietly.
Translated from the Hindi by Bharti Arora
The Goddess from Heaven
1
It’s all about destiny! Marriages are made in heaven. One marries whoever God or his agents, the Brahmins, decide upon. Babu Bharatdas had laid down no conditions while seeking a suitable bridegroom for his daughter. But he could not find the kind of boy and family he sought. He wanted his daughter happy, like any dutiful father, but according to him, possessions were of prime importance. Character and education were secondary. Character is not reflected on a person’s face and of what value is education in today’s world? Of course, if wealth is accompanied by education, then what more can one ask for! He searched far and wide for such a family but in vain. After all, how many families are there with both these attributes? And the few families that did exist were not of the same community. If the community matched, the stars did not; if the stars matched, then the terms and conditions of the marriage could not be agreed upon. Helpless, Bharatdas was forced to get his daughter Leela married off to Lala Santsaran’s son, Sitasaran. He was the only son, fairly well-educated, courteous, worldly wise and also quite a romantic at heart. The most important thing was that though he was handsome, strong, cheerful and brave, his views were still very old-fashioned. Whatever was traditional was good, whatever was modern, bad. When it came to business the zamindar used all the new practices for that was an arena where he had no power. But he was a hardcore conservative when it came to societal customs. Sitasaran blindly followed his father in word and deed. He didn’t have a mind of his own. A dull intellect often manifests as a lack of social liberalism.
2
Leela’s trials started from the day she stepped into the house. The acts that had been encouraged in her own home were prohibited here. Since childhood she had been taught to take in big gulps of air, here it was seen as sinful to even open one’s mouth to inhale. As a child she had been taught that sunlight was life, here to even glimpse sunlight was considered harmful. At home, tolerance, forgiveness and compassion were quoted as divine virtues, here one was not free to even name these traits. Santsaran was an extremely acerbic, angry man who wouldn’t allow a fly to land on his nose. It was only through cheating and lies that he had amassed so much property. This was his mantra for a successful life. His wife was a notch or two above him. If her bahu were ever to be found standing in the doorway of her darkened room or having stepped foot on the terrace, floods would arrive, the heavens would fall. She was stricken with the malady of incessant nagging. A bit of extra salt in the dal was an excuse enough to nag all day. A huge, hefty woman, laden with jewellery, wearing a wide lehnga of chintz, she sat all day long on her string cot, her box of betel leaves beside her. Even a leaf dared not move against her wish. Observing her bahu’s new-fangled habits, she boiled with rage. Our reputation is at stake. Just look at the way she’s peering out from the balcony. If my daughter had such a roving eye, I would have throttled her. Who knows what kind of people live in her part of the world! She never wears any jewellery. Look at her; she couldn’t care less about dressing up. Do you think these are good signs? Not just Leela, Sitasaran too had to face her tongue-lashing. ‘Oh, so you also like sleeping in the moonlight, is it? You call yourself a man? What kind of a man is he whose wife does not listen to him? Home all day long, stuck to her. Don’t you have a tongue in your head? Why don’t you make her understand?’
Sitasaran would say, ‘Amma, if only she would listen.’
‘Why won’t she listen, aren’t you man enough? A mere glance from a man should make a woman tremble.’
‘How far have you got trying to make her see reason?’
‘You think she cares? She must be thinking—this old woman will die sooner or later and then I will be mistress of this house.’
‘Well, what can I say in response to that? Can’t you see how weak she has become? She has lost her colour. Her condition is going from bad to worse, being in that room all day long.’
Whenever she heard these words from her son, the mother would smoulder and rage all day long, alternately cursing her luck and this time in her life.
Though he spoke like this in front of his mother, the moment he was with Leela, Sitasaran’s attitude would change. He would say what Leela liked to hear, to such an extent that both made fun of the old woman. Leela had no relief other than this. All through the day she had to do endless chores. She had never sat before a stove, but now she had to slap away at quintals of atta as rotis had to be made for both the workers as well as the errand boys. Sometimes she would sit and weep for hours over the stove. It wasn’t as if these people couldn’t afford a cook but an old family custom demanded that the bahu cook, and this tradition had to be maintained. It was only the sight of Sitasaran that calmed Leela’s tortured spirit momentarily.
One summer evening, a breeze blew outside, but inside it was unbearably stuffy. Leela was sitting and reading a book when Sitasaran came in and said, ‘It’s very hot in here, sit outside.’
‘It is far better to bear this heat than listen to the taunts one would start hearing the moment one steps outside.’
‘If she says anything today, I won’t be able to hold myself back.’
‘And it will then be impossible to even stay in this house.’
‘We’ll get away from this strife.’
‘I won’t leave even if it kills me. Whatever she says or does, in her eyes, it’s for my own good. It’s not as if she has any enmity towards me. Yes, we may not like what she says, but that’s a different matter. She herself has had to endure all the suffering that she now wants me to bear. Her suffering has not affected her health in any way. At sixty-five she is sprightlier than me. So how can she comprehend that such suffering might injure one’s health?’
Sitasaran looked at her wilted face with beseeching eyes and said, ‘You have had to bear much sorrow in this house. This family is not worthy of you. You must surely have committed some sin in your previous life.’
Playing with her husband’s hands, Leela said, ‘Then how would I have found your love?’
3
Five years went by. Leela became a mother of two. A boy and a girl. The boy was named Jankisaran and the girl, Kamini. The children kept the house alive. The grandfather doted on the girl, while the grandmother doted on the boy. Both the children were boisterous and spoilt, and were given to cussing and making rude faces. Cussing and making rude faces was nothing to them. They would eat throughout the day and so often fall sick. Leela had tolerated all her own suffering but she could not bear to see these bad habits in her children, but who paid attention to her? Despite the fact that it was she who had given birth to these children, she was not considered significant; the children were everything. She had no right to even scold her own children; her mother-in-law would tear her apart.
The biggest trouble
now was that her own health kept getting worse. During her pregnancy she had to undergo all the cruelties that ignorance, foolishness and superstition ordained for child-bearing women. In that hell hole where there was neither air nor light, nor any hygiene, and a foul smell pervaded the musty, filthy room, her delicate form shrivelled up. Whatever fight was left in her after the first childbirth was razed entirely after the second. She became pale and her eyes were sunken hollows. It seemed as if she was bloodless. Her appearance changed completely.
It was summer. There were not just ripe mangoes to eat, but also watermelons. There had never been such a good crop of both fruits. God only knew how they came to be so sweet that year. No one could stop eating them. Baskets laden with mangoes and watermelons arrived from Santsaran’s villages. The whole house fell upon them. Babu Sahib was of old stock. In the morning he would breakfast upon a hundred mangoes, then top it up with a full tray of watermelons. The lady of the house did not lag behind. She stopped eating an entire meal. Grain would not spoil after all. If not that day, they would be used another day. But would mangoes and watermelons keep fresh even for a day? You had to eat them all up or let them perish. They were used to this yearly flood of watermelons and mangoes and no one ever complained. If one felt heavy, one simply took some digestive.
One day Sitasaran felt twinges of pain in his tummy. He ignored it and sat down to eat the mangoes. The moment he reached a hundred, he threw up. Collapsed. He had relentless bouts of vomiting and diarrhoea. It was clearly cholera. A doctor was called in from the city but Babu Sahib passed away before he reached. Weeping and the beating of breasts followed. By evening the dead body was carried out of the house. When people returned from the funeral at midnight, the mistress too was found to be suffering from cholera. Once more there was a lot of scurrying around but by sunrise she too was gone. While they lived, husband and wife had not been separated even for a day. In death, too, they left the earth together at the same time. The husband at sunset, and his wife at sunrise.
