by Ruth Vanita
I am not a slave to meaningless conventions and useless principles, but it would certainly be problematic to employ a man who marries a wicked woman. Fresh complications will arise every day, new dilemmas will crop up, the police might come calling, lawsuits might ensue. Quite possibly, thefts might occur. It’s best to avoid this swamp. Like a starving creature, Gangu had seen a piece of bread and was rushing towards it. He didn’t care that the bread was half-eaten, dry, and unfit to eat. He was unable to use his mental faculties. I thought it in my best interest to sever connections with him.
2
Five months passed. Gangu had married Gomti and was living in a thatched house in the same neighbourhood. He eked out a living by selling snacks from a cart. Whenever I met him in the market, I would stop to enquire how he was doing. I had become very interested in his life. It was like an experiment on not just a social but also a psychological question. I wanted to see how things would turn out. I always saw Gangu looking cheerful. I could clearly see in him the energy and self-respect born of prosperity and freedom from worry. He sold goods worth a rupee or twenty annas every day. After deducting the investment, he got a profit of eight or ten annas. This was his income, but he was blessed by some God, because he showed no sign of the shamelessness and deprivation found in others of his class. The dignity and joy on his face could arise only from inner peace.
One day I heard that Gomti had run away from Gangu’s house. I don’t know why I experienced a strange pleasure at the news. I had felt a certain envy of Gangu’s contented and happy life. I was waiting for something unexpected, some disaster, some shameful incident to occur. This news doused my envy. Finally, what I had believed would happen had happened. Finally, the idiot had suffered the punishment for his short-sightedness. Let’s see what face he puts on it! Now his eyes will be opened and he’ll realize that those who advised him against this marriage were his well-wishers. At that time, he behaved as if he had come across some rare treasure or as if the gates of liberation had opened to him. So many people told him that this woman was not worthy of trust, had betrayed several others and would betray him too, but all that advice was like water on a duck’s back. Now I’ll see how he’s doing. I’ll say, ‘Well, sir, are you happy with this boon from your goddess or not? You never tired of praising her, and said that people spoke against her merely from ill will. Now tell me, who was mistaken?’
The same day, by chance, I ran into Gangu in the market. He was upset, agitated, completely lost. As soon as he saw me, his eyes filled with tears. He came to me and said, not with embarrassment but with pain, ‘Sir, Gomti has betrayed me too.’
I said with cruel pleasure but pretended sympathy, ‘I told you so but you wouldn’t listen. Now you must endure the consequences. What else can you do? Did she take all your money or did she leave any for you?’
Gangu put his hand on his breast, as if his heart was wounded by my words, and said, ‘Oh no, sir, don’t say so. She hasn’t touched a single thing. She’s even left behind her own things. I don’t know what defect she saw in me. I was not worthy of her—what else can I say? She was educated, and I am completely illiterate. It was surprising that she stayed with me so long. If I had stayed with her a while longer, I would have become a man. What can I tell you about her, sir? Whatever she may have been to others, to me she was a gift sent by some God. I don’t know what mistake I made. But I swear she never so much as looked angry. What am I, sir? I am a labourer, worth ten or twelve annas; but she was so blessed that she made this little go a long way and we never felt that we lacked anything.’
I was deeply disappointed. I had expected him to recount a tale of her infidelity, and I would have sympathized with his blind devotion. But this fool’s eyes were not yet opened. He was still singing her praises. He definitely seemed mentally disturbed.
I started a cruel joke, ‘So she didn’t take anything from your house?’
‘No, sir, not a single thing.’
‘And she loved you a lot too?’
‘What can I say, sir? I will remember that love till my dying day.’
‘And yet she left you and went away?’
‘That is what’s surprising, sir!’
‘Have you ever heard of a woman’s frailty?’
‘Oh, sir, don’t say so. Even if someone puts a knife to my throat, I won’t stop singing her praises.’
‘Then go find her.’
‘Yes, sir! I won’t rest until I find her. If only I can find out where she is, I’ll go immediately and fetch her. And, sir, my heart says that she’ll definitely return with me. You’ll see. She didn’t leave on account of being angry with me. My heart cannot accept this. I’ll go and roam around jungles and mountains for a couple of months. If I survive, I’ll see you again.’
So saying, he went off, looking like a madman.
3
After this, I had to go to Nainital for work, not pleasure. I returned after a month and had not even changed my clothes when I saw Gangu standing before me, carrying a newborn baby. Perhaps not even Nand was so enraptured when he adopted the baby Krishna. Gangu appeared to be bursting at the seams with joy. A hymn of gratitude and devotion seemed to rise from his face and eyes. His expression was like that of a starving beggar who has just had a hearty meal.
I asked, ‘Well, sir, have you found out anything about Madam Gomti? You had gone in search of her?’
Gangu, barely able to contain his joy, said, ‘Yes, sir, thanks to your blessings, I did manage to find her. She was in the women’s hospital in Lucknow. She had told a friend here to inform me if I became too upset. I immediately rushed to Lucknow and brought her back. I got this child too in the bargain.’
He held the child out towards me, like a sportsman showing off the trophy he has won.
I asked, jokingly, ‘Oh, so you got this boy too. Perhaps that is why she ran away. You’re sure he’s your son?’
‘Why my son, sir—he’s yours, he’s God’s.’
‘So he was born in Lucknow?’
‘Yes, sir, he’s just one month old.’
‘How long ago did you get married?’
‘This is the seventh month.’
‘So he was born in the sixth month of your marriage?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Yet he’s your son.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What nonsense you are talking!’
I wasn’t sure if he understood me, or was pretending not to. He said, as guilelessly as before, ‘She narrowly escaped death, sir. It’s as if she was reborn. She suffered for three days and three nights.’
I said, somewhat sarcastically, ‘This is the first time I’ve heard of a child being born in six months.’
This barb struck home.
He smiled and said, ‘Oh, that’s what you mean! I didn’t realize you were talking of that. Gomti ran away because of this fear. I said, “Gomti, if you are not happy with me, leave me. I’ll go away and never come to you again. When you need me to do anything for you, write, and I’ll help as much as I can. I have no complaint against you. In my eyes, you are just as good as before. I still love you as much. No, I actually love you more. But if your heart has not turned away from me, then come with me. Gangu will not be unfaithful to you as long as he lives. I didn’t marry you because you are a goddess but because I loved you and thought you loved me too. This child is my child, my own child. I bought a field and will I refuse the crop because someone else sowed it?”’
So saying, he burst out laughing.
I forgot that I had to go and change my clothes. I don’t know why my eyes filled with tears. Some unknown power subdued my mental disgust and made me extend my hands. I took that unblemished child in my lap and kissed it, perhaps more lovingly than I have ever kissed my own children.
Gangu said, ‘Sir, you are a very good person. I always praise you to Gomti, and tell her to come and meet you, but she is too shy.’
I a good person! The veil of my goodness had been drawn away from m
y eyes. I said, in a voice steeped in devotion, ‘No, why should she come to see an impure man like me? You think I’m a good person? I appear to be good, but my heart is mean. True goodness is in you, and this child is a flower perfumed with your goodness.’
Holding the child to my breast, I went with Gangu.
The Story of Two Bullocks
THE DONKEY IS CONSIDERED THE WISEST OF ALL ANIMALS. WHEN WE want to call someone a complete idiot, we call him an ass. It’s hard to say whether the donkey really is stupid, or whether he has earned this sobriquet because of his straightforward nature and matchless forbearance. Cows are known to butt with their horns; a pregnant cow may suddenly take on the form of a lioness. The dog is a very humble creature, yet even he sometimes gets angry, but a donkey has never been known to get angry. However much you beat the poor thing, however rotten the grass you place before her, no shadow of discontent ever appears on her face. In spring, he may cut a caper or two, but I have never seen him happy. A steady melancholy is permanently engraved on his face. It has never been seen to change, in comfort or discomfort, loss or gain. All the characteristics of sages and renunciants have reached a pinnacle in her, yet men call her stupid. Such disrespect for virtue is not to be seen elsewhere.
The fact is that straightforwardness is not suited to this world. Take a look, for instance, at the wretched condition of Indians in South Africa. Why are they not allowed to enter America? The poor things don’t drink, they save money for a rainy day, they work very hard, they don’t pick a quarrel with anyone, they are quick to sympathize with others, yet they have a bad reputation. It is said that they lower the standards of life. If they too learn to take an eye for an eye, they will perhaps begin to be called civilized. Look at Japan. Just one victory has caused it to be counted among the civilized nations of the world.
But the donkey has a younger brother who is only a little less of an ass, and he is the bullock. The term ‘uncle of a calf’ is used pretty much the same way as the word ‘ass’ is. Some people may consider the bullock the foremost among fools, but I don’t agree with them. A bullock will occasionally run at you, and one does come across obstinate bullocks. Bullocks also show their displeasure in several other ways, so they are somewhat below donkeys.
Jhuri Kachhi’s two bullocks were named Hira (Diamond) and Moti (Pearl). The two were of a very good breed, beautiful to look at, hard working, tall and muscular. They had lived together for a long time and had become like brothers. They would sit facing each other or side by side, and exchange their thoughts in a silent language. I can’t say how they managed to understand each other’s feelings. Doubtless they had some secret power which man, who boasts of being the highest of all creatures, lacks. They expressed their love by licking and smelling one another, and sometimes they would lock horns, not in conflict, but in play, just as close friends wrestle with one another. Without such mock-fighting, friendship seems superficial, lightweight, not to be relied upon.
When the two bullocks were yoked to a plough or a cart and went along, shaking their necks, each one tried to take the most weight on his own neck. After the day’s work, when they were let loose in the afternoon or at dusk, they would relax by licking one another. When oilcake and hay were put in the trough, they would get up together, eat together, and then sit down together. When one stopped eating, the other would stop as well.
One day, Jhuri sent the two of them to his in-laws’ place. The bullocks had no way of knowing why they were being sent away. They thought they had been sold. It’s difficult to say how they felt about being sold, but Jhuri’s brother-in-law Gaya had a very hard time taking them home. If he drove them from behind, they would run to the right or the left; if he tried to pull them along from the front by the harness, they would both pull back with all their strength. If he hit them, they would lower their horns and bellow. Had God given them a voice, they would perhaps have asked Jhuri, ‘Why are you throwing us out? We never held back in serving you. If this was not enough for you, you could have made us work harder. We would be content to die in your service. We never complained of the food we were fed. We quietly ate whatever you fed us. Why have you sold us to this cruel fellow?’
At twilight, they reached their new place. They had not eaten all day, but when they were taken to the trough, neither would eat. Their hearts were heavy. The place they had thought of as home was far away. The new home, new village and new people seemed strange to them.
The two conversed in their silent language, looked into each other’s eyes, and lay down. When the village went to sleep, they broke their tethers, and set out for home. The tethers were very strong. No one could have guessed that a bullock could break them, but these two had redoubled strength at this moment. They broke the ropes with one jerk.
When Jhuri woke the next morning, he saw both bullocks standing at the manger, a half rope hanging from each one’s neck. They were knee-deep in mud, and a rebellious affection shone in their eyes.
Jhuri was overcome with love. He ran to embrace them. Those loving hugs and kisses were a pleasant sight.
The children of the house and the village gathered, and clapped hands in joy to welcome them. This was not an unprecedented incident in the history of the village, nevertheless it was important. The children’s assembly decided that certificates of honour should be given to the two animal heroes. One brought rotis from his house, another ghee, a third bran, and a fourth hay.
One child said, ‘No one else has bullocks like these.’
Another agreed, ‘They came alone such a long way.’
A third said, ‘They are not bullocks; they were humans in a former birth.’
No one dared contradict this.
Jhuri’s wife was angry when she saw the bullocks at the door. She said, ‘These ungrateful bullocks didn’t work there a single day; they ran away.’
Jhuri could not bear this criticism of his bullocks. He said, ‘Why call them ungrateful? They were not fed properly so what could they do?’
His wife retorted angrily, ‘You are the only one who knows how to feed bullocks. Everyone else keeps them going on water.’
Jhuri replied, ‘Why would they have run off if they had been fed?’
His wife was irritated. ‘They ran off because those people don’t spoil bullocks the way fools like you do. They feed them but they also work them hard. These two are lazy, so they ran away. Now I’ll see to it that they get just dry hay, no oilcake or bran. Let them eat or die, as they please.’
That is what happened. The labourer was strictly instructed to give the bullocks only dry hay.
When they put their mouths in the trough, they found the food bland. No moisture and no taste! How could they eat? They gazed with hopeful eyes at the door.
Jhuri said to the labourer, ‘Why don’t you put a little oilcake in?’
‘The mistress will kill me.’
‘Do it on the sly.’
‘No, Dada, afterwards you too will say as she says.’
2
The next day, Jhuri’s brother-in-law came again and took the bullocks away. This time, he yoked them to a cart.
A couple of times, Moti tried to pull the cart into the ditch at the side of the road, but Hira stopped him. He was more patient.
When they reached home at twilight, the brother-in-law tied them both with strong ropes, and taught them a lesson for the previous day’s mischief. He gave them the same dry hay, but gave his own bullocks bran and flour as well.
The two bullocks had never been so insulted. Jhuri never touched them with a stick, even one of flowers. The two would fly just at a sound from him. But here they were beaten. They suffered the pain of wounded dignity, and then they were given dry hay! They wouldn’t even look at the trough.
The second day, Gaya yoked the bullocks to the plough, but they had sworn not to lift their feet. He tired himself out beating them, but they would not move. When the cruel fellow hit Hira’s nose repeatedly with a stick, Moti lost his temper. He ran off with th
e plough. The plough, the rope, and the straps, all were broken. If not for the large ropes on their necks, the two would not have been caught.
Hira said in his silent language, ‘It’s useless to run away.’
Moti replied, ‘He would have killed you.’
‘Now he’ll beat us even more.’
‘Let him—since we were born bullocks, we can’t escape beating.’
‘Gaya is running up with two men who have long sticks.’
Moti said, ‘Shall I show him some fun? Coming with sticks, indeed!’
Hira calmed him down. ‘No, brother, stand quietly.’
‘If he hits me, I’ll knock down a couple of them.’
‘No. This is not the dharma of our community.’
Moti had to swallow his anger. Gaya arrived, and took the two away. Fortunately, he decided not to beat them just then, or Moti would have turned on him. Gaya and his helpers sensed Moti’s mood, and realized that it would be better to deflect his anger.
The same dry hay was put before them. They both stood, silent. The family had begun to eat. Just then, a small girl came out with two rotis, and put one in each one’s mouth. That one roti could not still their hunger, but it fed their hearts. There was at least one decent person in this house. The girl was Bhairon’s daughter. Her mother was dead, and her stepmother was always beating her, so she had a sort of fellow-feeling for the bullocks.
The two worked all day, suffered beatings, and remained tense. In the evening, they were tied up, and at night, the little girl brought them two rotis. This offering of love was so blessed that even though they had only dry hay to eat, the two did not grow weak, but they were bursting with feelings of rebellion.
One day, Moti said in their silent language, ‘I can’t bear this any more, Hira.’
‘What do you want to do?’
‘I’ll toss a couple of them on my horns.’
‘But that sweet girl, who feeds us rotis, is the daughter of the head of the house. She’ll be orphaned.’