Stories on Women

by Premchand

  ‘She’ kept the letter aside and tears started flowing from her eyes. Vanshidhar stood in the veranda motionless, as if Maani stood before him, in all her modesty.

  Translated from the Hindi by Neerja M. Chand

  The Widow with Sons

  1

  When Pandit Ayodhyanath passed away, everyone remarked, ‘May God give such an end to everyone!’

  He was survived by four grown-up sons, all married, and a daughter, yet unmarried. He had left behind a considerable fortune; a brick-house, two orchards, jewellery worth several thousands of rupees, and twenty thousand in hard cash. For a long time, Phulmati, his widow, remained in a state of mourning, but she composed herself with the thought that she had four grown-up sons to look to. All four of them were impeccably mannered and all their wives exceedingly obedient. When she lay down at night, the four of them took turns to massage her feet. When she would take her bath it is they who picked out a sari for her. Thus the entire household danced to her tune. The eldest son, Kamatanath, worked in an office for fifty rupees a month. Umanath, the younger one, had qualified as a doctor and was hoping to open up a clinic. The third, Dayanath, having failed his BA examination, was somehow managing a living by writing for magazines. Sitanath, the fourth, was the brightest of them all, and having passed his BA in the first division, was now preparing for his MA examination. None of the sons had any vices, or had such improvident habits that would bring grief to the mother or disgrace the family honour. For all practical purposes, Phulmati was in charge of the household. However, the keys remained in the custody of the eldest bahu. The old woman did not make an ostentatious show of her authority which often makes the elderly irascible and querulous, but no one could demand and have anything without her wish.

  It was evening. Twelve days had gone by since Panditji had passed away. Tomorrow would be the thirteenth day of the death rites. A big ritual feast to which all relatives and members of the fraternity were invited, had to be arranged. The preparations were in progress. Phulmati, seated in her room, could see people bringing in bagful of flour, ghee tins, baskets full of vegetables, bags of sugar and containers of curd. Several other things were brought for offering; utensils, clothes, beds, bedding, umbrellas, shoes, sticks and lanterns, but Phulmati was not shown anything. As had been the custom, all these items should have been first brought to her for approval. She would size everything up, approve of it, and would suggest proper measure, before it could be stored. But, why was she not consulted, or shown anything? And why only three bags of flour when she had asked for five. Ghee too was only in five tins when she had asked for ten. Similarly, every other item like vegetables, sugar, curds must have been cut down upon. Who dared to interfere with her orders? Once she had decided on something, who could have any right to tamper with the quantities?

  For forty years, Phulmati’s word prevailed in all matters. If she wished hundred rupees to be spent, hundred were spent; if she asked for one, then just one. Nobody ever did any nitpicking. Even Pandit Ayodhyanath didn’t ever go against her wishes. But, today, right in front of her eyes, she was being ignored. How could she tolerate all this?

  For a moment, she kept quiet; but couldn’t restrain herself any longer. She was used to her rightful autonomy. Full of anger, she went to Kamatanath and said, ‘Why have you brought just three bags of flour; I had asked for five? And ghee, too, is only in five tins. Don’t you remember I had asked for ten? Prudence is not bad but if a person who dug the well himself remained thirsty—isn’t that such a disgrace?’

  Kamatanath did not care to say he was sorry, nor did he feel ashamed. For a moment he stood defiant, then said, ‘We decided on three bags for which five tins of ghee would be enough. In the same way we cut down on the other quantities too.’

  Phulmati reacted sharply, ‘Who suggested a cut in the flour?’

  ‘We did.’

  ‘Does my opinion count for nothing?’

  ‘Why not, but we too can understand our gain and loss.’

  A flabbergasted Phulmati stared at him. She couldn’t get what he intended by ‘gain and loss’. She very well understood the gain and the loss of this household. Others, even if born of her, had no business to interfere with what she did. This insolent fellow was talking back as if the house belonged to him alone, as if he had suffered to raise this family, and she was an outsider. Look at his audacity!

  Her face flushed with anger as she retorted, ‘You are not to count my gain or loss. I have the right to do what I think proper. Go right away and bring two more bags of flour and five tins of ghee, and beware of disregarding my orders in future.’

  She had given him quite a dressing-down. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so harsh. She felt sorry for it. Well, they were boys after all. It was natural for them to think in terms of economy. Maybe they didn’t ask me because they knew I myself am thrifty. Had they known that I wouldn’t skimp on anything in this matter, they wouldn’t have dared defy me. Although Kamatanath was standing in the same manner, it was apparent that he was in no mood to comply. Phulmati, however, felt assured, and went off to her room. She couldn’t have entertained the thought of someone not following her word.

  As time passed by, it became apparent to her that she no longer had the same status in this house that she had enjoyed ten or twelve days ago. From the kinsmen came various offerings of sugar, sweetmeats, curds, pickle, etc., which were stowed away by the eldest bahu as her own possessions. No one came around to take her advice. If any of the relatives had something to ask, they went straight to Kamatanath or his wife, as if he was the most responsible or resourceful person of the house. In fact, most of the time he could be found stoned with bhang. Somehow he managed to go to his office, but that too, for no more than fifteen days in a month. The sahibs had regard for Panditji or else he would have been fired long ago. His wife, an insensitive woman, could not appreciate a situation like this. She was not even capable of taking care of her personal belongings, let alone manage the household. What a shame! They were all bent upon bringing disgrace to the family. At some stage, something or the other could run out of stock. One needs to exercise a lot of prudence to see to such things. Something may be in surplus and one wouldn’t know how to dispose it of, while other items would be in such small quantities that they would hardly reach each platter. What has struck all of them? Well, why was the eldest bahu opening the safe? Who is she to do that without my permission? The keys are in her custody, all right, but she is not supposed to open the safe unless I authorize her to do so. But look at her, today she is opening the safe as if I count for nothing. No, I can’t stand it any more.

  Rising peremptorily she went over to the eldest bahu and said sternly, ‘Why are you opening the safe? I never asked you to!’

  The elder bahu replied nonchalantly, ‘Won’t we pay for the things purchased?’

  ‘I don’t know anything about how things were purchased and in what quantities? How can there be payments unless there are proper accounts?’

  ‘Well, all is settled.’

  ‘Who did that?’

  ‘How do I know? Go and ask the men. I was ordered to fetch money for payments, and I am merely doing that.’

  Phulmati could hardly suppress her ire. But it was no time to get into a foul mood. The house was full of guests—men, women, all. If she lost her temper with the boys now, the people will gossip that the family was splitting up soon after Panditji had died. She braced herself and walked up and withdrew to her room. But she was determined to take everyone to task once the guests had left. Let her see how they face her and respond to her. She was going to smash the coterie.

  She felt restless even in her room and kept an eagle-eyed watch on the entire scene. Which rules of hospitality were not observed? Where had someone overstepped the bounds of honour? The feast had begun. All the guests were asked to be seated in rows. The courtyard had room for barely two hundred people. She wondered how five hundred people could be accommodated in this space. Were they going
to pile up one upon the other? Would there be two shifts? What was the harm if the people were to be seated in two shifts? At the most, the feast would be over by two at night rather than at twelve. But everybody seems to be in a hurry to get away and sleep. Let this damn thing be over so that one may sleep in peace. The diners are sitting so close to one another that one can’t even move edgeways. The pattals are overlapping. The puris served have gone cold—there is a clamour for hot puris. When the maida puris become cold, they stiffen like leather. Who is going to eat such stuff! Why has the cook been sent off so early? So very irritating!

  Suddenly, there was an uproar. The vegetable dishes had no salt. The elder bahu quietly set about powdering salt. Enraged, Phulmati was biting her lips, but couldn’t have spoken at such a juncture. At last salt powder was brought and sprinkled over the platters. There was another uproar: ‘The water is hot—we need cold water.’ But cold water had not been arranged for; no one had thought of getting any ice. Someone was rushed to the market but where could one get ice so late in the night? The fellow returned empty-handed. Guests had to make do with the warm tap water. If Phulmati had her way, she would tear the boys from limb to limb. Her house had never before witnessed such ignominy. And yet, everyone was dying to be the master of the house. It hadn’t occurred to anyone to order for such an essential item as ice. How would it strike anyone when they were busy gossiping? How must the guests be wondering there wasn’t any ice in the house and the entire community had been invited to a feast?

  There was more commotion. The diners were getting up from their places. What must the matter be?

  Phulmati could not remain unconcerned. Emerging from her room she came into the courtyard and asked Kamatanath, ‘What is the matter, son? Why are the people getting up?’

  Kamatanath did not answer her, and quietly slipped away from there. That irritated Phulmati. Suddenly she met the maid and asked her the same question. She was told that a dead mouse was found in someone’s curry. Phulmati stood transfixed. She was in a terrible rage, fuming from within, as if she would dash out her brains against the wall. These accursed fellows were in charge of the feast. It was the height of grossness. How many people have had their dharma abused. Why won’t they get up after witnessing all this? Everything has come to nought. Hundreds of rupees have gone to waste; not to talk of this utter ignominy.

  The guests have dispersed. And the food was still lying on the pattals. All four sons standing in the courtyard were a picture of disgrace. They were now blaming each other. The eldest bahu was getting angry at the younger ones, who in turn put all the blame on Kumud, which made her cry. Just then, Phulmati appeared and burst out: ‘Are you satisfied with the disgrace you have brought on or is there something still left? Go and drown yourself, all of you. We cannot show our faces in the town.’

  None of the sons responded.

  Phulmati became more vehement: ‘It doesn’t affect you, since none of you has any sense of honour. Only he who has spent his life bringing dignity to this house can grieve. Why have you brought disrepute to his noble soul? The entire community has contempt for us. No one will ever come to even urinate at your door.’

  Kamatanath listened to her silently for a while, then got irritated and said, ‘Now keep quiet, Amma. We admit our mistake, indeed, this was a blunder. But are you going to hang us for this? Everyone commits mistakes only to repent later. But you do not cry for their blood.’

  The eldest bahu tried to clear it up. ‘How would we know Kumud couldn’t do even this much of the job? She should have checked the vegetables before pouring them into the cauldron. She just emptied the whole basket into it. How can we be blamed for this?’

  Kamatanath admonished his wife, ‘No single person, not even Kumud, not you, nor I is to blame for this. It was just a matter of chance. We were destined for this disgrace. When there is such a big feast, you do not put fistfuls of vegetables into the karhai. Entire baskets have to be emptied. Such mishaps do take place occasionally.

  ‘How can this be an object of mockery or disgrace? You are unnecessarily adding insult to injury.’

  Phulmati gnashed her teeth in disgust and said, ‘Instead of feeling ashamed, you speak so insolently.’

  Kamatanath was not one to be subdued. ‘Why should I be ashamed? Have I committed some theft? Ants in sugar and pests in wheat are easily overlooked. We didn’t watch out and that was a slip—that was it. Or else we would have quietly thrown out the mouse and none would be any the wiser.’

  Phulmati was aghast at hearing this. ‘What did you say? The dead mouse would have defiled everyone’s dharma.’

  Kamata said smilingly, ‘Amma, which age are you living in? Such trifles do not corrupt anyone’s dharma. Tell me who among the so-called virtuous people who walked off from there don’t eat meat? They won’t spare even tortoises and snails. How would a little mouse defile them?’

  Phulmati felt as if doomsday was very near. ‘God save dharma! Even educated people harbour such unrighteous notions.’ Cut up, she withdrew.

  2

  Two months went by. Night had fallen. The four brothers, having done with the day’s work or jobs were sitting in the room and chatting. The eldest bahu was in league with them, the topic being discussed was Kumud’s wedding.

  Kamatanath reclined against the bolster and said, ‘Father’s words are gone with him. Pandit Murari is a learned man and should be a gentleman. But a person who barters his learning and status for money is rather mean and we couldn’t marry Kumud off to such a person’s son, not for an amount, let alone a dowry of five thousand rupees. Send him a refusal and look out for another groom. We only have twenty thousand rupees with us, which means five thousand as each one’s share. If we set aside five thousand for dowry and five thousand for other things, such as band, etc., we will be stripped of all the money we have.’

  Umanath quipped, ‘I need at least five thousand rupees to start my clinic. I cannot spare anything out of my share. In the beginning, there will be hardly any earnings and I shall have to fall back on whatever resources I have.’

  Dayanath was looking at a newspaper. Taking off his glasses, he said, ‘I too, am thinking of publishing a newspaper. I need a capital of at least ten thousand rupees for the printing press and the newspaper. If I can invest five thousand rupees, somebody can chip in as a partner with another five thousand rupees. I can’t get by on writing articles for others’ newspapers.’

  Kamatanath nodded in agreement. ‘No one publishes articles even for free, let alone pays for them.’

  Dayanath contradicted him and said, ‘Well, not really. I don’t write for anyone unless I get some advance.’

  Kamatanath took his words back. ‘I am not speaking of you, you may be getting paid, but not everyone can manage that.’

  The elder bahu said, ‘If a girl is born under lucky stars she will be happy even in an impoverished home. But if she is unlucky, she will feel miserable even in a king’s home. It is all a matter of destiny.’

  Kamatanath looked at his wife with admiration. ‘We have to marry Sita off this very year.’

  Sitanath was the youngest of the brothers. Even while keeping his head down, he was getting impatient to criticize the selfish motives of his brothers. So as soon as he heard his name, he said, ‘Do not bother about my marriage. I will not even talk of it unless I start earning. Truly speaking, I don’t really want to marry. What our country needs is people who work, rather than adding to the population. You can spend my share of the money on Kumud’s wedding. Having once fixed with Pandit Murarilal, it would be unbecoming to snap the relations.’

  Uma protested loudly. ‘How do we manage ten thousand rupees?’

  Sita said with some diffidence, ‘I am willing to contribute my share of the money.’

  ‘What about the remaining amount?’

  ‘Murarilal can be asked to lower the dowry demand. He cannot be so selfish as not to be accommodating. If he is satisfied with three thousand rupees, the marriage can be arran
ged within five thousand rupees.’

  Uma said to Kamatanath, ‘Do you hear what he is saying?’

  Dayanath spoke up, ‘What is the harm? He is giving up his share, why not spend it? We have no grudge against Murari Pandit. On the other hand, I am happy to know that there is someone among us who is willing to make a sacrifice. He has no immediate need for money. He gets a stipend from the government. As soon as he passes his examination he will find some job. We are not that lucky.’

  Kamatanath spoke with circumspection, ‘What would he know about loss? If one of us suffers should others do something about it? He hasn’t yet grown up and doesn’t realize that a single rupee is worth a lakh of rupees in difficult circumstances. Who knows he might get a scholarship to study in a foreign country, or get selected for the civil services. At that time he will require at least four to five thousand rupees to equip himself with. Where will he then go begging for money? I don’t want him to ruin his life for the sake of a dowry for Kumud.’

  Sitanath couldn’t refute his argument. With some hesitation he conceded, ‘In that case, I shall need the money.’

  ‘Is that not likely to happen?’

  ‘It is not unlikely, but perhaps difficult. Those who can manage recommendations get scholarships. Who is going to bother about me?’

  ‘At times recommendations count for nothing and those without them romp home.’

  ‘Well, do as you wish. As far as I am concerned I can forgo an overseas trip, but want Kumud married off into a good family.’