by Ruth Vanita
Madhav rushed out to Ghisu. Both of them set about wailing and beating their breasts. When the neighbours heard them, they came running, and, according to established convention, began consoling the two unfortunates.
But there was not much time to weep and lament. They had to make arrangements for a shroud and wood. Money was not to be found in that house, just as meat does not stay long in a kite’s nest.
Father and son went weeping to the village landlord’s house. He hated the sight of these two. He had often thrashed them with his own hands, for stealing or for not coming to work when they had promised to do so. He asked, ‘What is it, Ghisua, why are you crying? These days, I never see you around. Looks like you don’t want to stay in the village.’
Ghisu knelt, touched his forehead to the ground and said, with tears in his eyes, ‘Sarkar, a terrible disaster has occurred. Madhav’s wife died last night. She suffered the whole night, Sarkar! We both sat by her all night. We gave her whatever medication we could. But she betrayed us and left. Now there is no one to even give us a roti, Sarkar! We are ruined. Our family is destroyed. We are your slaves. Who but you can provide for her funeral now? We spent whatever we had on her medicines and treatment. Only if you take pity on us, Sarkar, can we arrange her funeral. Whom else can I ask?’
The landlord was a compassionate man. But to have compassion for Ghisu was like trying to dye a black blanket some other colour. He felt like saying, ‘Get out of here. You never come when I call you. Today, you’re in need so you show up and start flattering me. You lazy rascal!’ But this was not the time for anger or punishment. Unwillingly, he took out two rupees and threw them down. But he didn’t utter a word of sympathy. He didn’t even look at them. It was as if he was just getting rid of a burden.
Once the landlord had given two rupees, how could the village merchants and moneylenders dare refuse to contribute? Ghisu knew how to use the landlord’s name. One gave two annas and another four. In an hour, Ghisu had collected the substantial sum of five rupees. One contributed grain and another wood. In the afternoon, Ghisu and Madhav set out to buy a shroud from the market. Meanwhile, others were cutting bamboo sticks to prepare the pyre.
The tender-hearted village women came by turns to see the body, and shed a few tears at her forlorn state.
When they reached the market, Ghisu said, ‘We’ve got enough wood for the pyre, right, Madhav?’
Madhav said, ‘Yes, there’s plenty of wood. We need a shroud.’
‘All right, let’s buy an inexpensive shroud.’
‘Yes, it’ll be night by the time the funeral starts. Who’ll see the shroud at night?’
‘What a bad custom it is that one who didn’t have a rag to cover her body in her lifetime must have a new shroud after death.’
‘The shroud burns with the body, after all.’
‘Of course it does. If we’d had these five rupees earlier, we could have arranged for some treatment for her.’
Each was assessing the other’s state of mind. They kept wandering around the market. They went from one cloth merchant’s shop to another. They saw different types of cloth, silk and cotton, but didn’t like anything. They spent so much time on this that evening arrived. And then who knows by what divine inspiration the two of them found themselves in front of a liquor shop. As if by prior arrangement, they went in. For a little while, they stood there, uncertainly. Then, Ghisu went forward and said, ‘Give us a bottle too.’ Some savoury snacks and fried fish were brought, and the two sat peacefully in the veranda, drinking.
After hastily downing several drinks, they began to get tipsy.
Ghisu said, ‘What would we have got by buying a shroud? It would just have been burnt up. It wouldn’t have gone along with Budhiya.’
Madhav said, looking up at the sky as if making the Gods witness to his innocence, ‘It’s the world’s custom, what else? Otherwise, why would people give Brahmans thousands of rupees? Who knows whether or not the deceased profit by it in the next world?’
‘Big people have money, let them waste it. What do we have to waste?’
‘But what will you tell people? Won’t people ask where the shroud is?’
Ghisu laughed. ‘Oh, we’ll say the money slipped out of my waistband! We searched for a long time but couldn’t find it. People won’t believe us but they’ll give us money again.’
Madhav also laughed at this unexpected good fortune. He said, ‘She was very good, poor thing! Even after death, she fed us really well.’
They had drunk half the bottle. Ghisu called for two seers of puris, with chutney, pickles and liver. There was a shop supplying all this right in front of the liquor shop. Madhav rushed off and brought all the food in two leaf plates. It cost them one and a half rupees. Only a little money remained.
The two were consuming puris with as much majesty as a lion in the forest devouring its prey. They had no fear of being called to account and no anxiety about getting a bad name. They had long ago overcome all such sentiments.
Ghisu said philosophically, ‘Our souls are being gratified—won’t the merit accrue to her?’
Madhav bowed his head in devotion and declared, ‘Most definitely it will. O God, knower of all hearts, take her to heaven. We both bless her from our hearts. Never have we eaten such food as we have today.’
After a while, a doubt occurred to Madhav. He said, ‘Won’t we also go there one day, Dada?’
Ghisu did not answer this naïve question. He didn’t want to spoil his enjoyment by thinking of the next world.
‘If she asks us why we didn’t give her a shroud, what will we say?’
‘You idiot, what kind of question is that?’
‘She’ll definitely ask, though.’
‘How do you know she won’t get a shroud? Do you think I’m such an ass? Do you think I have learnt nothing at all in this world for sixty years? She will get a shroud and a very good one!’
Madhav was not convinced. He said, ‘Who’ll give us money now? You’ve eaten up the money. It’s me she’ll ask. I’m the one who married her.’
Ghisu got annoyed and said, ‘I say she will get a shroud. Why don’t you believe me?’
‘Who’ll give it? Why don’t you tell me?’
‘The same people who gave before. The only difference is that this time the money won’t be put in our hands.’
As the darkness thickened and the stars grew brighter, the atmosphere in the liquor shop grew increasingly lively. One was singing, another bragging, and a third embracing his companions. Some were putting mud pots of liquor to their friends’ mouths.
There was exhilaration in the atmosphere, intoxication in the air. Many came here and became cheerful after just one sip. It was the atmosphere rather than the liquor that intoxicated them. The problems of life drew them here, and for a short while they forgot whether they were dead or alive. Here, they were neither dead nor alive.
Father and son were now enjoying each sip. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on them. How fortunate they were—they had a whole bottle between the two of them!
Having eaten his fill, Madhav picked up the leaf plate of leftover puris and gave it to a beggar who was standing by, watching them with hungry eyes. For the first time in his life, he experienced the dignity, joy and delight of giving.
Ghisu said, ‘Take it, eat well and bless the one who earned it and who is dead! Your blessing will certainly reach her. Bless her with every pore of your body; this money was very hard-earned.’
Madhav looked up at the sky again, and said, ‘She’ll go to heaven, Dada, she’ll be a queen in heaven.’
Ghisu stood up and said, as if floating on waves of rapture, ‘Yes, Beta, she’ll go to heaven. She never harassed anyone or oppressed anyone. And when she died, she fulfilled the greatest desire of our lives. If she doesn’t go to heaven, who will? These fat people who rob the poor with both hands and then bathe in the Ganga and offer water in temples to wash away their sins?’
These pious thoughts sudden
ly changed. Instability is the defining feature of intoxication. Now grief and despair took over.
Madhav said, ‘But, Dada, the poor thing suffered a lot in her life. And how much she suffered when dying!’
He covered his eyes with his hands and began to weep, shrieking aloud.
Ghisu consoled him, ‘Why do you cry, Beta? Be happy that she is liberated from this snare of Maya; she’s free of all troubles. She was very fortunate to escape the bonds of attachment and delusion so soon!’
And both of them stood up and began to sing a song about Maya, ‘You deceiving woman! Why do you make eyes? Deceiving woman!’
All the drunkards were watching them but the two kept singing, lost in their own inner enjoyment. Then they began to dance. They jumped and leapt, fell and swayed. They expressed various emotions, acted out different parts, and finally collapsed in an intoxicated stupor.
Acknowledgements
AS ALWAYS, I AM GRATEFUL TO MONA BACHMANN AND SALEEM Kidwai for taking the time to read and comment on the introduction. Thanks also to Archana Varma for discussing the project with me and for reading and commenting on the introduction, and to my editor Ravi Singh for his initiation and support of this project.
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Copyright © Premchand 2008
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ISBN: 978-0-143-10172-7
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Introduction
1All the stories are translated from the eight volumes of Mansarovar (Star Publications, New Delhi, 2004). Most of the stories were first published in Hindi magazines such as Hans, Chand, Zamana and Vishal Bharat.
2Also, Premchand died in 1936 before the PWA embraced a left-wing agenda. Thanks to Archana Varma for pointing this out.
3Thus V.B. Rawat, ‘Premchand and his Dalit writings’, claims that in ‘Kafan’, ‘Premchand made all Chamars look like they were kamchors.’ It does not occur to Rawat that the woman, described by Premchand as extremely hardworking and efficient, is also a Chamar. See also Laura R. Brueck, ‘Dalit chetna in Dalit literary criticism’, Seminar 558 (Dalit Perspectives), 2006.
4Perhaps some Dalit radicals also dislike Premchand because he occasionally, as in ‘The Child’, acknowledges the reality of poor Brahmans instead of unrealistically depicting all Brahmans as rich and powerful.
5After I noticed this, I found that Tahira Naqvi had noticed it too. See her note at https://mailman.rice.edu/pipermail/sasialit/2004-September/038658.xhtml.
6See Ruth Vanita, Love’s Rite (Penguin Books, New Delhi, 2006), Chapter 4, ‘Together in Life after Life’, for an analysis of love-suicides in Indian culture, past and present.
7Radhika D. Srivastava, ‘Man who moved a mountain’, Sunday Times of India, New Delhi, 7 January 2007, page 2.
Rani Sarandha
1This refers to the demon disguised as a golden deer who attracted Rama’s wife Sita and lured away her brother-in-law Lakshman, thus leaving Sita open to abduction by Ravana.
2Amar Singh Rathore, heir to the throne of Marwar, was deprived of it, so he joined Emperor Shah Jahan who honoured his exceptional valour by making him ruler of Nagaur. In 1644, the imperial treasurer, Salabat Khan, insulted Amar Singh in full court, whereupon Amar killed him and was cut to pieces by other nobles. The emperor honoured his memory by renaming Akbari Gate of Agra Fort, Amar Singh Gate. Amar Singh is celebrated by minstrels for vindicating Rajput honour.
The Farce of Brahm
1Her husband’s younger sister, married earlier, stayed on at her parents’ house till she became an adult, when she was sent to her husband’s house. A ceremony and celebration, known as gauna, would accompany this departure.
Family Break-up
1This refers to the tradition where couples were married very young, but began to live together only after they grew up. The bride continued to live with her parents after marriage, and was brought to her husband’s house some years later.
Subhagi
1Subhagi belongs to a lower caste than Sajan Singh.
A Widow with Sons
1Literally, women’s wealth. According to traditional Hindu law, jewellery and other gifts given to a woman by her natal family, husband or in-laws was her stridhan over which she had independent control.
The Voice of God
1The word ‘panchayat’ (village council) derives from ‘paanch’ (five), since councils traditionally consisted of five people to ensure a clear vote.