The Complete Short Stories

by Premchand

  The tonga driver asked him where to go. He replied, ‘Wherever you like.’

  ‘To the station?’

  ‘Why not!’

  ‘Should I take the by-lane or the main road?’

  ‘The one where I get a train as soon as possible.’

  The driver looked at him with astonishment. Recognizing him, he said, ‘You are not in good health. Is nobody accompanying you?’

  ‘No, I am going alone.’

  ‘Where do you want to go?’

  ‘Don’t talk so much, move on!’

  The tonga driver whipped his horse and went towards the railway station. As soon as they reached the station Jeevan Das jumped from the tonga and ran towards the station. The tonga driver asked for his money. Only then did Jeevan Das remember that he had not taken anything from the house, and he was not even dressed. He said, ‘I will pay you later.’

  ‘Nobody knows when you will return.’

  ‘My shoes are new. Take them!’

  The tonga driver grew even bolder. He thought Jeevan Das must be drunk and not in his senses. He took the shoes and went off.

  The departure time of the train was still hours away. Jeevan Das went to the platform and started to stroll up and down. Gradually, his steps grew faster, as if he wanted to escape from persecution. It did not worry him at all that his hands were empty. It was winter, and people were shivering from the cold but he was oblivious to the need to dress warmly. His ability to think was gone, only some sense of what he had done remained. He felt as if Prabhavati was following him, or sometimes it seemed that Lakhan Das came running. Sometimes he thought he was hearing the lamentations of his neighbours. An obsession started to get hold of him, so much so that he tried to hide behind a heap of sacks. He started up every moment, looked around in terror and hid again. Now he no longer knew why he had come here. Only his sense of survival was left. Bells rang. Throngs of travellers arrived. The noise of porters and shouting passengers, the hooting of engines, the ringing of bells, all combined to create a sound like on the Day of Judgement, but Jeevan Das was shifting between lifeless mounds as if he wanted to surround and capture them.

  Finally, the train arrived at the platform. Jeevan Das pulled himself together. Memory returned, and he leapt from his place of hiding to sit in the train.

  Right then there was a knock at the door. Jeevan Das bounced up, looked at the door, and saw the ticket checker standing there. Immediately his distraction disappeared. The sense of danger revived his memory. No intoxication can stand the fear of death! The sensation of impending harm awakens the senses. He quickly opened the door to the washroom and hid in a corner. The ticket checker asked whether anybody else was in the compartment. The passengers had seen Jeevan Das fleeing to the washroom, but they said with one voice that there was nobody else. The common people have always loathed the authorities.

  When the train started to move Jeevan Das came out. The passengers welcomed him with a laugh. This was Dehradun.

  3

  Jeevan Das could not escape his imagination. When he reached Haridwar his terror had somewhat subsided. The reality of the elements came home to him. The cold had frozen him even before, and now hunger began to torment him. He had never relied on alms before, but now there was no way out but to bow to his necessities. He ate at a public kitchen and also took a blanket from there.

  Some days passed in this manner, but there was no mention of death at all. The ailments which had made him despair of life gradually disappeared. With every day he felt stronger. His face lost its pallor, and his appetite returned to normal. His confusion also subsided. It looked as if the sacrifice of his dear ones had pacified Death.

  To Jeevan Das his steadily improving health seemed more mortifying than his previous attacks. He now appealed to Death, he prayed for the deadly symptoms to reappear, he practised all kinds of unhealthy eating habits and forsook all precautions, but to no avail. Those mental blows had really mollified Death.

  Now he began to fear that he might really stay alive. All signs pointed in this direction. His conviction grew day by day. He had wanted to bend destiny to his will, but now he found himself trampled beneath its feet. Time and again he cursed himself. Sometimes he got up with the intention to end his life to demonstrate that he was still able to challenge his fate, but after one heavy defeat he was afraid that this attempt could have even worse consequences. He had come to acknowledge the power of destiny.

  These ideas began to awaken some philosophical doubts in him. A materialistic education had made him a sceptic from the start. Now the whole world order began to appear deceptive and cruel to him. There was no justice, no mercy, no sympathy. It was impossible for this order to be following any benevolent power, for all these heresies, cruelties and wonders to happen with its knowledge. It could be neither forgiving and merciful, nor omniscient. This power was certainly nasty, mean, mischievous and malevolent. Fearing its evil power mankind must have taken recourse to flattery and made it into the epitome of everything good and bountiful, into the source of holiness and beauty, of goodness and blessing.

  This admission of our humbleness, this utter helplessness, we call worship and take pride in it. The philosophers say: The universe is run by incontrovertible laws. They are always enforced. That, too, is their gullibility. Laws are insensitive, unchangeable and blind, they are incapable of cruelty. They are not interested in inflicting pain. If they are nobody’s friend, they are nobody’s enemy either. Somebody must be the initiator of these laws, must be the conjurer of this spectacle. There’s no denying this. But this hidden power is not an angel, nor a human being, but Satan himself.

  These thoughts and doubts gradually made their presence felt. Neither does striving for good elevate us, nor does doing wrong demean us. The boat of Jeevan Das’s life had lost its anchor. Now it had lost its balance and was adrift amidst the tumultuous waves.

  4

  Fifteen years went by. Jeevan Das was now living in great splendour. He had carriages and servants, and held soirees every day. He lived only for his pleasure, selfishness was his only creed; he felt free of the bonds of conscience and morality. His sense of good and evil had died. He also did not lack the means. Shrewd lies, secret falsifications, clandestine deception—how could a servant of so many masters be short of anything! He cared only about outward respectability, and this he guarded quite jealously. Nothing else stopped the free rein of his personal desires. His friends and companions were of the same kind—some skilled only in one art, others jacks of all trades.

  Jeevan Das was no longer troubled by the grief about his wife and son. He did not care about the past or future, only the present had any meaning for him. He thought of religious reward as torture, and of torment as reward, and to him this seemed the fundamental principle of the world. He himself was a living example of this principle. Having broken the fetters of conscience he had arrived at heights which he could hardly have even thought of as long as he was confined within its boundaries. Everywhere around him he saw the proof of this deception. Deceit and hypocrisy seemed to be decisive. They were the secret to a life of plenty. The free were flying high, the fettered were living in misery. The abode of trade and politics, the temple of knowledge and learning, the circles of sociability, the clubs of friendship and union were all lightened by this candle. Why should one not worship such a Devi?

  It was a summer evening. Pilgrims filled the railway station at Haridwar. Jeevan Das, wearing a saffron-coloured scarf around his neck and gold-rimmed glasses, looking like the embodiment of piety and otherworldliness, was strolling on the platform with his friends. His probing eyes were searching the pilgrims. Suddenly he discovered a victim in the second-class waiting room. It was a good-looking, well-dressed young man. His every feature revealed money. His watch-chain and the buttons of his jacket were made of gold. His luggage, too, was very expensive, and he had two servants with him. Like a butcher scrutinizes the flesh on an animal, Jeevan Das dissected human beings. He had attained
an extraordinary aptitude in reading physiognomy and never erred in his judgement. He thought, This young man is definitely upper-class and very innocent, but arrogant. Hence, he will be an easy prey. I must become friendly with him. He is clever and quick-witted. I should win his confidence through some jugglery and impress him with my esoteric knowledge. I should aim at his gullibility by posing as a pir and presenting my two friends as disciples. We can use the tricks of flying and making somebody fly and fool him by all kinds of deceptions. We will amaze him with my deep knowledge and insight, my miracles and wonders, my unselfishness and otherworldliness. I will present myself as a superhuman being. Praise will be showered on me, all means of eloquence and rhetoric will be used, and when some grain has been thrown to the bird it will be caught in the net.

  With this resolve Jeevan Das and his two servants entered the room. The young man looked very attentively at him as if he wanted to recognize a long-lost friend.

  Suddenly, he said with excitement, ‘Mahatmaji, what is your abode?’

  Jeevan Das was jubilant. He said, ‘How can saints have an abode? The whole world is our home.’

  The young man asked again, ‘Your name does not happen to be Lala Jeevan Das?’

  Jeevan Das was startled. His heart was pounding. His face lost all colour. God forbid that he was an officer of the secret police! He scrutinized the boy’s face, not knowing whether to say yes or no. Both answers were dangerous. He was lost in his thoughts.

  When the young man noticed his confusion he said: ‘Maharaj, please excuse my rudeness. I only had the courage to ask because you resemble my father who went missing a long time ago. It is said that he became an ascetic. For years I have been roaming around searching for him.’

  Just as the waves of a storm appear rising from the horizon and then in the twinkling of an eye cover the whole sky, similarly Jeevan Das felt strong emotions flood his heart. His throat was choked, and everything was blurred before his eyes. He looked at the young man with penetrating glances, and the veil of strangeness disappeared. He embraced him and said, ‘Lakkhu!’

  Lakhan Das fell at his feet and said, ‘Lalaji!’

  ‘I didn’t recognize you at all.’

  ‘It has been ages!’

  5

  It was past midnight. Lakhan Das was sleeping, and Jeevan Das was looking out of the window lost in deep thought. He was confronted with destiny’s new miracle. The convictions which had been guiding him for a long time were shattered. How pride and vanity had misled him! He had seen himself as managing the world, providing people their daily bread or pronouncing death on them. He was certain that without him his bereft family would be destitute. How wrong his vanity had proved to be! Those whom he had not hesitated to poison were alive, happy and prosperous today. He would not have been able to provide Lakhan with such a good education and teach him such a high morality. He could never have dreamt of elevating him to such a high position. He had understood that they would be ruined by his death. On the contrary, when he disappeared things turned to the better for them. How well-behaved, sweet-tongued, friendly, pure-hearted his son had become, how modest and understanding. Sitting in his company made him realize his own lowness. So much good luck for a wicked, ignorant, selfish person like him! How sad that his introspection had imprisoned him in a dark cave at the bottom of which he was lying even more filthy and detestable than the creatures of darkness. He had understood the world to be run by the forces of evil playing cat and mouse with human beings. What ignorance! Today, he who had burnt his own nest was among the luckiest of men. There could be no doubt that the world was ruled by a force full of mercy and blessings, otherwise how could he be worthy of so much good? In the morning he would see the Goddess with whom he had shared the best part of his life. His grandchildren would play in his lap, his relatives and friends would welcome him back and congratulate him. How he had mistrusted such a benevolent, merciful power!

  With these thoughts Jeevan Das fell asleep. When he woke up he heard Lakhan Das’s familiar, sweet voice. He was startled. Lakhan Das was having the luggage unloaded. His phaeton was waiting outside the station. Both men got on to it. Jeevan Das’s heart was weighed down with joy. His face looked dejected instead of happy. He was silent as if ignorant of the world around and devoid of any feeling. It was strange that just when his heart was full to the brim he was experiencing a sinking feeling.

  The phaeton started to move. Everything appeared new to Jeevan Das. The houses were not the same, neither were the bazaars and lanes or the people. Everything looked completely transformed. Suddenly, he saw a clean, beautiful bungalow which bore the inscription ‘Jeevan Das Pathshala’ in big letters on the gate.

  Jeevan Das asked, ‘What is this?’

  Lakhan Das said, ‘Mother has opened this school in your memory. It provides instruction free of charge, and some boys also receive stipends.’

  Jeevan Das was even more depressed. A deep sigh escaped his mouth.

  After a short while the phaeton stopped. Lakhan Das got down. Jeevan Das saw a magnificent building. Nothing was left of his sweet old brick house, apart from a neem tree as a last reminder. Several servants came running to unload the luggage. Two rosy-cheeked boys came shouting, ‘Babuji, Babuji,’ and clasped Lakhan Das’s legs. A commotion arose in the house. Neighbours came to inquire about his health. The extravagantly decorated reception room was opened. Jeevan Das felt like he was lost in a miracle.

  6

  It was past midnight. Jeevan Das was unable to find sleep. He saw his past before him. The thorns he had sown over the past fifteen years were now pinching his heart. The caves he had dug were about to swallow him. In the course of a single day he had been utterly transformed. Disbelief had been replaced by a firm belief in a hidden hand, and this belief was not only intellectual, but also spiritual. The fear of this hidden power was confronting him like a black demon. He could not see any route of escape. So far this power had been harmless like a spark of fire falling down in a desert, but now this spark had fallen on a heap of straw which it could set alight at any moment.

  As the night went by, this terror changed into remorse. He did not feel fit to face this embodiment of mercy which had always kept him sheltered in its kindness and let him see this blessed day. His black face was a stain on its mercy. In his disgrace he was not even worthy to fall at its feet.

  Should he demean himself in the eyes of this pure being? Would his evil deeds not fall back on his family? Would the storms brought about by him not devastate this flourishing garden?

  Oh, to save the honour and esteem of this family he had become an executioner. Should he now bring disgrace to this very family, should he blacken their bright achievements with the blackness of his deeds? Should his life bring more suffering and tragedy than his death could ever have done? His hands were stained with blood. ‘Oh God, let this blood not spill over! My heart is rotting because of my sinful crimes. Let this family not be contaminated by them!’

  These ideas intensified Jeevan Das’s shame, regret and fear to such an extent that he became terrified. As a seed grows with extraordinary speed in fallow land, when faith awakens in a heart devoid of any belief it develops amazing candour and direction. Action becomes more forceful than knowledge. Its distinguishing feature is an intrepid passion. Jeevan Das felt an all-encompassing existence, a hidden hand, a pervading gaze all around him, and this feeling was growing stronger with every moment. The events of his unfortunate life seemed to be leaping like flames towards the house as if they were about to devour it.

  Light started to appear from the east. Jeevan Das left the house. He had decided to extinguish his ill-fated existence. He had made up his mind to save his family from the fire of his sins. Wiping out his existence, he would erase his shame.

  As the sun came up behind the horizon, Jeevan Das vanished into the waters of the Gomti.

  Translated from the Urdu by Christina Oesterheld

  An Audacious Act

  1

 
; In the Naubasta mohalla of Lucknow there lived a lawyer called Munshi Maikoolal. He was an extremely generous, compassionate and gentlemanly person. So adept was he in his profession that there was rarely a lawsuit in which he did not represent at least one party. He was also devoted to ascetics and saints. In their holy company, he had acquired some knowledge of philosophy and some practice of hemp and marijuana. As for alcohol, it was his family tradition. His mind would be enlightened when he was drunk and in this condition he wrote several legal drafts. Hemp and marijuana would so influence his wisdom that after taking puffs of these, he would become renunciatory and meditative. The residents of the mohalla held him in great awe. But this awe was not a consequence of his legal expertise; instead it resulted from his generous nature. The buggy pullers, milkmen and palanquin bearers of the mohalla were obedient to him and would serve him even if they had to abandon hundreds of other chores. His alcohol-induced generosity had enchanted everyone. Every day, just as he returned from court, he would drop two rupees before Algu, his palanquin bearer. Algu knew the meaning of this act and there was no need to explicitly state anything. By evening, a bottle of liquor and some hemp and marijuana would be placed before Munshiji. That was it. The party would begin. Friends, too, would then show up. Munshiji’s clients would sit in one row and house inmates would file in another. The conversation would veer towards renunciation and true knowledge. Intermittently he would also discuss court cases with his clients. The assembly would end as late as ten in the night.