Stories on Women

by Premchand

  ‘You don’t get a family only with a dowry. As your bhabhi said, it is all in one’s stars. What I want is that Murarilal should be sent a refusal and we should look for a groom who would agree to a small dowry. I cannot afford to spend more than a thousand rupees on this marriage. How about Pandit Deendayal?’

  Uma was delighted to hear that and said, ‘He is excellent. Doesn’t matter if he is not an MA and BA, but he earns a good living from his jajmani.’

  Dayanath objected, ‘We should seek Amma’s opinion.’

  But Kamatanath saw no need for this, and said, ‘She has lost her reason, and has the same orthodox views. She is all out for Murarilal. Doesn’t realize that the times have changed. All she wants is to send Kumud to Murari’s house, even if we are ruined in the bargain.’

  Uma expressed some doubt. ‘You just watch out, Amma is going to give away all her jewellery to Kumud.’

  Kamatanath couldn’t be so selfish. ‘Well, the jewellery is her sole possession. It is her dower. She can give it to anyone she likes.’

  Uma interjected, ‘It is her dower, but does that mean she should squander it away? After all, that too was Dada’s earning?’

  ‘Whosoever might have earned it, but she has full rights on it.’

  ‘These are labyrinths of law. Twenty thousand will have four claimants and jewellery worth ten thousand will be only Amma’s. You just wait and watch; she will marry Kumud off to Murari Pandit on the strength of this jewellery.’

  Umanath was in no mind to let go of such a huge amount. He was adept at trickery. He would cook up some story and wangle the jewels out of the mother. Till then it would be rather indiscreet to provoke Phulmati by bringing up the subject of Kumud’s marriage. Umanath nodded his head and said, ‘The jewellery will be of no less value than ten thousand rupees.’

  Kamatanath was not moved and said, ‘Whatever their worth, I cannot be party to something that is unethical.’

  ‘All right then, you be off. Don’t jump in later to upset things.’

  ‘I’ll stay away from all this.’

  ‘And you, Sita?’

  ‘I too will stay away.’

  But when Dayanath was told about it, he promptly agreed to conspire with him.

  He will at least get two and a half out of ten. If one has to resort to some trickery for such a large sum, it’s all in the game.

  3

  Phulmati had retired after her dinner when Uma and Daya came over to her. They looked so pathetic in appearance as if some great calamity had befallen them. Phulmati asked apprehensively, ‘Both of you look perturbed.’

  Uma scratched his head and said, ‘Writing for newspapers is a risky business, Amma. However cautious you may be, you get caught sometime or the other. Dayanath wrote an article for which a surety of five thousand rupees has been demanded from him. If the amount is not deposited by tomorrow, he will be arrested and sent to jail for ten years.’

  Phulmati beat her head in desperation. ‘Why do you write such things, son, you should know we are already passing through tough times? Can’t the surety be avoided?’

  Dayanath replied sheepishly, ‘Amma, I had not written any such thing, but what to do about misfortune? The district magistrate is so strict that he will show no mercy. I have left no stone unturned.’

  ‘In that case didn’t you ask Kamata to arrange the money?’

  Uma said with a grimace, ‘You know his nature, Amma, money is dearer to him than life. He may be condemned to solitary confinement, but he will not part with a single pie.’

  Dayanath supported him. ‘I didn’t think it proper to even take this issue to him.’

  Phulmati, rising from her bed, said, ‘Come with me, I will tell him, how can he refuse to give? Money is meant for such emergencies and not to be kept hidden underground.’

  Umanath stopped his mother and said, ‘Amma, don’t tell him anything. Instead of giving money he will raise hell. He is more concerned with saving his own job, and he won’t even allow Dayanath to live in the house. I wouldn’t be surprised if he even reports it to the officers.’

  Phulmati felt helpless. ‘So how are you going to arrange for the surety? I have got nothing with me. Yes, I do have my jewellery. Take these and pawn them with someone to deposit the surety amount. And swear that you will never write such things for any newspaper.’

  Dayanath put his hands on his ears. ‘Amma, it is just not possible for me to take away your jewellery to save my skin. No matter if I am sentenced to ten or five years’ imprisonment. I shall go through this ordeal. What purpose do I serve here?’

  Phulmati, beating her breast, said, ‘What are you saying, my son—who has the guts to arrest you as long as I am alive? Won’t I torch his face? Isn’t the jewellery meant for such a rainy day? What shall I do with it if you are not around? Throw it into the fire?’

  She brought out the jewellery box and put it in front of him.

  Daya looked at Uma beseechingly, and said, ‘What is your opinion, Bhai Sahib? That is the reason I was telling you there was no need to tell Amma about it. The worst that can happen is that I will end up in jail.’

  Uma as if coming to his defence said, ‘How is it that such a calamity would have passed Amma by? It wasn’t possible for me to keep quiet about it. I just can’t see what is to be done now. I don’t want you to go to jail nor is it right to pawn Amma’s jewellery.’

  Phulmati said in a plaintive voice, ‘Do you think the jewellery is dearer to me than you are? I can even sacrifice my life for your sake, the jewellery is not even worth mentioning.’

  Daya said resolutely, ‘Amma, I won’t have your jewellery whatever misfortune may befall me. I have been of no use to you so far, how can I now take away your jewellery? A wicked son like me should not have been born to you. I have always given you pain.’

  Phulmati spoke up as firmly, ‘If you do not accept these jewels I will myself go and pawn these and shall deposit the amount with the district magistrate. You can test me if you like. God alone knows what will happen when I am no more, but as long as I am alive, nobody can ever touch you.’

  Umanath, as if obliging his mother, said, ‘There is no other way left for us now. There is no harm, then, accept these, but remember to redeem and return the jewellery as soon as you have the money. It is true that motherhood is a long process of sacrifice. Who else but a mother can shower so much love? We are so unfortunate that we do not show even a fraction of the respect which is due to her.’

  Both of them, as if getting over a big dilemma, took charge of the jewellery box and took off. Their mother looked at them lovingly as if all her being’s blessings were eager to embrace them. Today, after so many months her heart, shadowed with grief, got some solace after making this sacrifice of all she had. Her whole being was indeed looking for ways and means to surrender her possessions. Her attitude never smacked of greed or self-interest. She knew that her enjoyment and her authority lay in sacrifice. She felt overwhelmed as if her rights had been restored to her.

  4

  Three more months passed. After making away with their mother’s jewellery all four brothers began fawning upon her. They also instructed their wives not to give her any offence. If being a little polite could placate her heart, what was the harm in it? They did what pleased them but took care to take her token advice. They manipulated things in such a manner that she would be easily taken in by them to give her ready consent. She was most unwilling to sell the orchard but they cooked up such stories that she felt compelled to consent to the sale. However, no consensus could be reached regarding Kumud’s marriage. The mother was intent on Pandit Murarilal whereas the sons were bent upon Deendayal. Then they quarrelled over the matter one day.

  Phulmati declared that a daughter, too, had all the claims on her parents’ money. She told the sons, ‘You got the orchards worth sixteen thousand rupees and a house worth twenty-five thousand rupees. Can’t she claim even five thousand out of the cash of twenty thousand?’

  Kamata s
aid politely, ‘Amma, Kumud is not only your daughter, she is our sister, too. You will pass away in two to four years but our relation with her will last long years. We will never do anything that goes against her well-being, but as far as a share for her is concerned she is entitled to nothing whatsoever. It was different when Dada was alive. He could have spent as much as he liked on her marriage. No one would have restrained him, but things are different now. We have to manage everything with utmost care and look after every paisa. There is no wisdom in blowing five thousand if something can be managed within one thousand.’

  Umanath corrected him, ‘Not five thousand, but ten thousand.’

  Kamata shrugged it off and said, ‘No, I will say five thousand. It is not within our means to spend five thousand rupees.’

  Phulmati put her foot down. ‘Come what may, she will be married off only to Murarilal’s son, no matter five thousand or ten thousand. After all, it is all my husband’s earning. I have put it together with great difficulty. And I will spend it as I like. You alone are not born of me. Kumud too has taken birth from the same womb. All of you are equal in my eyes. I am not begging anything of anyone. You just sit and watch the show, I will manage everything. Out of twenty thousand rupees, five thousand belong to Kumud.’

  Kamatanath was left with no choice but to speak out the bitter truth, and said, ‘Amma, you are unnecessarily aggravating the situation. The money that you think is yours doesn’t really belong to you but to us. You can’t spend anything out of it without our permission.’

  Phulmati felt as if she had been bitten by a snake. ‘What did you say? Come on, repeat it. I can’t spend my own money?’

  ‘The money is not yours, it belongs to us.’

  ‘Yours only after my death.’

  ‘Not so, it became ours as soon as Dada died.’

  Umanath said shamelessly, ‘Amma doesn’t understand the law and quarrels with us unnecessarily.’

  Phulmati spoke in anger and indignation, ‘To hell with your law. I don’t respect such law. Your father was not a millionaire. I scrimped and saved and held the family together or you would have no shelter for yourself. You can’t touch my money as long as I am alive. I spent ten thousand rupees on each of your brothers’ weddings, and I am going to spend the same amount on Kumud’s marriage.’

  Kamatanath grew wild. ‘You have no right to spend anything.’

  Umanath admonished his elder brother, ‘Bhai sahib, you are unnecessarily arguing with Amma. Simply write a letter to Murarilal telling him that Kumud can’t be married into their family. That’s the end of it. She doesn’t understand any law and gets into useless arguments.’

  Phulmati composed herself and said, ‘Well, let me hear what the law says.’

  Uma said with exasperation, ‘The law says that the ancestral property goes to the sons after their father’s death. The mother is merely entitled to food and clothes.’

  Phulmati reacted sharply. ‘Who made this law?’

  Uma said quietly, ‘Our rishis, the maharaja Manu, who else?’

  For a moment Phulmati was dumbstruck and then let out painfully, ‘So, I am living in this house at your mercy.’

  Umanath said impassively, ‘Well, you may take it as you like.’

  Phulmati cried out at this thunderbolt. The words emitted as sparks as she said, ‘I made the house; I managed the property, I gave you birth and brought you up. And today I am a stranger in my own house? Is that Manu’s edict, and do you want to follow it? All right, have your house to yourself. I can’t go on living here as your dependant. I would rather die. What a shock! I planted the tree but can’t stand in its shade. If that is the law, to hell with it!’

  The four youngsters were not in the least intimidated by this show of anger of their mother. As they thought they had the protective shield of law, how could such pinpricks harm them?

  After a short while, Phulmati left. For the first time, she felt that her disheartened motherhood was cursing her. The motherhood, her sole treasure, which she had cherished above all her aspirations, was now a burning furnace, into the flames of which her life was consigned.

  It was evening. The neem tree in the courtyard stood with drooping branches as if depressed with the ways of the world. On the western horizon the lord of light and life was burning it its own pyre; so was Phulmati’s motherhood.

  5

  When Phulmati retired to her room and lay on the bed, she felt as if her back was broken. Even in her dreams it had never occurred to her that her own sons would turn into her enemies as soon as her husband died. The sons whom she had nurtured and suckled were inflicting terrible wounds on her heart. This house was now a bed of thorns for her.

  To live here and feed herself in a place where she had lost all respect and counted for nothing was something that was unbearable to her proud nature.

  But what was the way out for her? If she lived apart from the sons who was going to suffer the disgrace? Whether the world cursed her or cursed her sons, it was all the same, she was the one who would be held responsible for the indignity. The people would gossip that with four young sons around, the old woman lived separately and had to labour for her meals. Those whom she always considered below her status will laugh at her. No, such humiliation would be more heart-rending than this disregard. It was wiser to keep her own and her family’s honour under wraps. She would now have to adapt herself to new circumstances. Times had changed. So far she had been in command, but now she was compelled to live like a servant. This was the will of God. It would be better to suffer the jibes and blows of her own sons rather than those of outsiders.

  She covered her face and wept over her wretched plight. The long night passed in this suffering. The winter dawn emerged from the darkness, full of trepidation, as if coming out of jail. Much against her habit, Phulmati got up very early that morning. It appeared as if she had undergone a mental metamorphosis during the course of the night. While the entire household slept, she began to sweep the courtyard. The ground hardened by the midnight frost stung her bare feet like thorns. Panditji would have never allowed her to wake up so early. The cold was very harmful for her. But those days were gone. She was trying to adjust herself to the times. Having done the sweeping, she lit some fire and began to pick pebbles off the rice and lentils. After some time, the sons woke up, but no one said to her, ‘Amma, why are you bothering yourself with all this work?’ They were probably happy that the proud spirit of the old woman was crushed.

  From then onwards, Phulmati was determined to work with all her might, but with complete indifference. In place of the proud, self-confident expression on her face, there was deep anguish. In place of the bright electric light, there was a timorous lamp, which would be snuffed out with the slightest whiff of a gentle wind.

  Finally, it was decided that a letter of refusal would be sent to Murarilal. The very next day, the letter was written. Kumud’s wedding was settled with Deendayal who, over forty years old, didn’t have much of a social standing, and barely earned his livelihood. He expressed no reservations and readily agreed to marry Kumud. The wedding day was fixed, the baraat came, the wedding ceremony took place and Kumud was sent off. Nobody knew how Phulmati felt. But all four brothers were happy as if a thorn had been removed from their flesh. As for Kumud, how could a high-born daughter open her mouth? She would either enjoy her life or live in sorrow, depending on what luck had in store for her. One is always helpless and has to submit to God’s will. If the family elders selected her life partner, he had to be looked up to with devotion, no matter what his failings may be. He was her lord. There was no question of resisting what had been allotted to her.

  Phulmati did not intervene in anything, whether it concerned gifts for Kumud, or entertaining the guests, or the money or gifts received from the invitees—she was not concerned with anything. Even if someone came to take her advice, her response was, ‘Whatever you do is fair enough, my sons, why ask me?’

  When the doli for Kumud arrived at the ga
te, she embraced her mother and started crying. Phulmati took her daughter to her room and whatever was left in her possession, hundred or fifty odd rupees and some jewels, she put all into her lap and said, ‘Beti, all my desires are smothered within me; or else you wouldn’t be married and be sent off in this way.’

  Phulmati had never talked about her jewellery to anyone so far. She may not have realized how her sons had duped her but she knew she wouldn’t get her jewellery back. Speaking of it now would be of no avail, and would only breed rancour. However, she wanted to make things clear on this occasion. The thought that Kumud would go away with the impression that Amma had saved her jewellery for her bahus instead of giving it to her, would be unbearable to her. That was the reason she had taken Kumud to her room, but Kumud had already sensed the treachery played on her mother. She returned all the money and jewellery and put them at the feet of her mother and said, ‘Amma, your blessings are worth more than lakhs of rupees. Keep these trinkets with you. God knows how much adversity you may have to face yet.’

  Phulmati was about to say something when Umanath came into the room and said, ‘What are you doing, Kumud? Come on, hurry up. It is getting late. The people are in a desperate hurry. Well, you will be back here in two or four months, then you can take whatever you may.’

  Phulmati felt as if Umanath had rubbed salt on her injuries. Stung, she shot back, ‘What is there left with me that I will give her? Go, beti, may your husband have a long life.’

  Kumud went away. Phulmati, struck with grief, collapsed on the ground. The last hope she had nurtured had extinguished.

  6

  One year passed.

  Of all the rooms in the house, Phulmati’s room was the largest and well ventilated. She had vacated it for her eldest bahu for several months and was herself occupying a small room, living like a beggar. She was now without any attachment for her sons and their wives. Her position was that of a maid in the house. Nothing that passed in the house, neither any person nor any object was of any concern to her. She was living only because she had not yet died. She was unaffected by any joy or pain. Umanath opened his clinic. His friends had a grand party, with revelries and celebration. Dayanath opened his printing press. There was another party. Sitanath got a scholarship and went off to a foreign land. There were celebrations yet again. At the yagyopavita ceremony of Kamatanath’s eldest son, there was a big bash, but not a glimmer of happiness could be seen on Phulmati’s face. Kamatanath was bedridden with typhoid for a month and hardly survived. In order to garner more publicity for his newspaper, Dayanath wrote an objectionable article for which he was sentenced to six months’ imprisonment. Umanath took a bribe, filed a false report in a criminal case and his legal licence was seized, but there was not the slightest regret on Phulmati’s face. It was as if there was no hope, no interest, and no worries left in her life. Her life was limited to doing just two things: she worked mechanically like a beast, and took her food. An animal may be goaded to work, but it eats of its own accord. Phulmati worked without any stimulus but ate food as if she was nibbling at some poisonous crumbs. For months she did not bother to oil her hair, or wash her clothes, and just didn’t care. She was bereft of all sensations.