The Complete Short Stories

by Premchand

  Munshiji never bothered about anything other than discussing his profession and philosophy. He was utterly unconcerned about any movement, meeting or social reform in the country. On this count, he was really renounced. Be it the partition of Bengal, the Moderate–Extremist split in the Congress, the beginning of political reforms, the desire for Swaraj or the reverberating cries for self-defence, Munshiji’s peace of mind remained undisturbed and unaffected. Everything except the court and alcohol was maya. He remained indifferent to everything else.

  2

  The lamps had been lit, Munshiji’s assembly had gathered and the devotees, too, had deposited themselves before him. But the liquor Goddess was yet to appear! Algu had not yet returned from the market. Everybody looked around with expectation beaming forth from their eyes. One man stood waiting in the veranda. Some two or three were even posted to scan the street, but Algu was not to be seen. For the first time in his life, Munshiji had to wait this long. This wait induced anxiety, and it manifested itself in the form of deep meditation. He neither spoke nor looked towards anybody. All his faculties were now focused on the anticipated object.

  All of a sudden he was informed that Algu was on the way. Munshiji awoke from his meditation, and the inmates lit up and with hopeful eyes they sat up alert in their seats. Pleasure, of course, is enhanced when promising anticipation is accompanied by delay.

  Within a moment, Algu appeared before Munshiji. He did not scold Algu, for he knew that he had committed this crime for the first time and there must have been a reason. Munshiji looked at Algu’s hand with sunken yet yearning eyes. His hands were not carrying a bottle. Munshiji was astonished and could not believe what he saw. He once again surveyed Algu’s hands but the bottle was just not there. Even though this was an unnatural occurrence, Munshiji did not get angry but asked politely, ‘Where’s the bottle?’

  Algu replied, ‘I couldn’t get it today.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘The Swarajis have blocked both the lanes leading to the vendor and are not allowing anyone to go that way.’

  This enraged Munshiji. He was not angry with Algu, but with the Swarajis. He thought, What right do they have to ban my liquor?

  ‘Didn’t you mention my name?’ He posed a logical question to Algu.

  Algu replied, ‘Many times, but there nobody was listening to anybody. Everybody was going back, so I too came back.’

  ‘Got the weed?’

  ‘There too it was the same story.’

  ‘Are you my servant or the Swarajis’?’

  ‘I am not your servant to have my face blackened.’

  ‘So are the ruffians blackening people’s faces too?’

  ‘I didn’t see, but everybody was saying so.’

  ‘Well, I’ll go myself. Let me see who is audacious enough to stop me. I will have each one of them put in prison. The government’s rule is there, not anarchy. Wasn’t there a constable around?’

  ‘The inspector himself told everybody that whoever wished could take and consume liquor, but they still went back. Nobody was listening to him.’

  ‘The inspector is my friend. Eedu, are you coming with me? Rambali, Bechan, Jhinku—everybody come with me. Let me see who can stop me. Tomorrow itself, I’ll teach everybody a lesson.’

  3

  There was a large crowd at the mouth of the lane where the liquor vendor was located when Munshiji reached with his four henchmen. Two benign figures were standing in the midst of the crowd. One of them was Maulana Jamin, a well-known scholar of Islamic jurisprudence, and the other was Swami Ghananand, the founder of the volunteers’ association and a great well-wisher of the public. The inspector was standing right in front of him with many constables. Just as he spotted Munshiji and his men, he said gleefully, ‘Please come, Mukhtar Sahib. Did you have to trouble yourself today? Aren’t these four men your fellow travellers?’

  Munshiji replied, ‘Yes, yes, I sent an errand boy earlier, but he returned without success. I heard it’s mayhem out here. The Swarajis aren’t letting anybody go in?’

  ‘No, sir, who can dare interfere in anybody’s work here? You go ahead comfortably. Nobody can utter a word. After all, why am I here?’

  Munshiji proudly looked at his men and had just made for the lane when Maulana Jamin addressed Eedu with great humility, ‘Friend, it’s time for your prayers, how come you’re here? Is it with this religiosity that you will solve the Khilafat issue?’

  Eedu felt as if his legs had been chained. He stood shamed and lowered his eyes to the ground. He did not have the courage to step forward.

  Swami Ghananand turned to Munshiji and his men, ‘Son, accept this charnamrita. You will attain bliss.’ Jhinku, Rambali and Bechan spread their palms as if under compulsion and accepted the charnamrita and drank it. Munshiji said, ‘You drink it yourself. I don’t need it.’

  Swamiji stood before Munshiji with folded hands and pleaded wittily, ‘Have mercy on this beggar, don’t go that way.’

  But Munshiji brushed aside his hand and entered the lane. His three companions remained fixed behind Swamiji with bowed heads.

  Munshiji called, ‘Rambali, Jhinku, why don’t you come? Who has the gumption to stop us?’

  Jhinku: ‘Why don’t you go back? One ought to obey the saints.’

  Munshiji: ‘So this is the morale with which you set out from home?’

  Rambali: ‘We set out thinking we would fight if anybody stops us forcibly. We didn’t come to fight saints and ascetics.’

  Munshiji: ‘It’s rightly said that the ignorant are like sheep.’

  Bechan: ‘Go ahead if you’re a lion, we’re good with being sheep.’

  Munshiji entered the liquor shop haughtily. The shop itself looked depressing and the vendor was sitting drowsily on his pouffe. Startled at hearing Munshiji’s footsteps, he looked at him sharply as if he was a strange creature, filled the bottle and dozed off again.

  When Munshiji reached the exit of the lane, he could not find his companions. Many people surrounded him from all sides and called him derogatory names.

  One said, ‘A courageous man should be like him.’

  Another said in Persian, ‘You can’t be shamed before men.’

  A third said, ‘It’s some old drunkard . . . an absolute addict.’

  Just then the inspector came and dispersed the crowd. Munshiji thanked him and headed for home. A constable went along with him for protection.

  4

  All of Munshiji’s four friends threw away the bottle and walked away.

  Jhinku informed them, ‘Once when my buggy was hauled in for unpaid work, it was this Swamiji who intervened with the government peon and had it released.’

  Rambali: ‘Last year when my house caught fire, he came along with the boys from the volunteers’ organization to help. Otherwise there wouldn’t have been a thread left in the house.’

  Bechan: ‘This lawyer doesn’t think anything of anybody. If you have to do something shameful, then you do it on the sly. You should not exhibit your shamelessness.’

  Jhinku: ‘Look, brother, you shouldn’t speak ill of somebody behind his back. And whatever be the case, the man is full of determination. The way he just went past so many men!’

  Rambali: ‘That’s not determination. Had it not been for the inspector, the mukhtar would’ve had it rough.’

  Bechan: ‘I wouldn’t even step into the lane, even if anyone offered me as much as fifty rupees. I was so ashamed I couldn’t look straight.’

  Eedu: ‘I accompanied him and landed myself into trouble. The maulana will have questions for me wherever he sees me. Why should we do such blasphemous acts that leave us shamefaced? I was so ashamed of myself. I renounce these from this day. Now I won’t even look that way.’

  Rambali: ‘Drunkards’ vows are no stronger than a raw thread.’

  Eedu: ‘Blacken my face if you ever see me drinking again.’

  Bechan: ‘It’s decided then. I quit from today. Let alcohol be the same as cow
’s blood if I drink again.’

  Jhinku: ‘So you think I am the biggest sinner here? Hit me fifty times with your shoe if you ever see me drinking again.’

  Rambali: ‘As if we don’t know! If Munshiji invites you to drink, you’ll run to him like a dog.’

  Jhinku: ‘Hit me a hundred times if you see me seated with the munshi. One whose words and actions are not the same must be a bastard.’

  Rambali: ‘Then it’s decided, brother. I also vow never to loosen my purse strings for liquor, though I won’t decline a free drink.’

  Bechan: ‘When have you ever loosened your purse strings?’

  While this was going on, Munshiji was seen sprinting towards them. Although he had won the fight, frustration was spread across his face. He could not enjoy his victory heartily because of some unmentionable reason. Shame, lurking in some corner of his heart, was pinching him. Although unaware, regret for his audacious act was making him miserable.

  Rambali said, ‘Come, Mukhtar Sahib, you took a long time.’

  Munshiji: ‘All of you turned out to be idiots. You were deceived by a sadhu.’

  Rambali: ‘These people have vowed not to drink from today.’

  Munshiji: ‘I haven’t seen a man who once addicted can quit. Shooting from the mouth is different.’

  Eedu: ‘If we live, you’ll witness this.’

  Jhinku: ‘Nobody can quit his regular fare. But if something does affect you deeply, then quit. There just needs to be one strike. Nobody dies from not being an addict.’

  Munshiji: ‘I’ll see how brave you are.’

  Bechan: ‘What’s there to see? Quitting is no big deal. Just that one will feel sad for a few days. If the English, who drink like water, could quit during the war, then it’s nothing difficult for us.’

  While the discussion was still on, they reached Mukhtar Sahib’s house.

  5

  The sitting room was forlorn. The clients had departed. Algu was sleeping on the floor. Munshiji sat down on the mattress and started taking out glasses from the almirah. He was still unable to believe his friends’ oaths. He was absolutely convinced that merely a whiff of the smell and a glance at the colour of alcohol would make everybody break their vows. The moment I prod them, they will all come and plant themselves here and the party will be on, he thought. When Eedu made a move for the door after bowing to him and Jhinku picked up his staff, Munshiji grabbed their hands and spoke humbly and sweetly, ‘Friends, it’s not good to desert like this. At least taste this liquor. This is especially good.’

  He continued, ‘Come, come. It is meaningless to talk like this.’

  Eedu retorted, ‘You stay happy. Let me go.’

  Jhinku said, ‘God willing, I won’t go near it. Who wants to be thrashed with shoes?’

  Saying so, both withdrew their hands and left. Munshiji followed this by holding Bechan’s hand as he was stepping off the veranda and urged, ‘Bechan, will you too betray me?’

  Bechan replied, ‘I have taken a serious vow. Now that I have declared it to be like cow’s blood, I can’t even look that way. However fallen I might be, won’t I respect cow’s blood? You too should quit now. Devote yourself to God for some days. You’ve been drinking for far too long.’

  Saying so, he too bowed and left. Now only Rambali was left. Munshiji addressed him sorrowfully, ‘Did you observe their betrayal, Rambali? I didn’t know these people would be so weak. Let it only be us for today. Two true friends are better than a dozen weak-willed ones. Come, sit.’

  Rambali responded, ‘I’m present and available, but I too have vowed that I won’t spend my own money drinking.’

  ‘Till I can support it, drink as much as you want. What’s the worry?’

  ‘But what if you’re not there? Where will I find such a gentleman?’

  ‘We’ll see to it then. It’s not as if I am dying today.’

  ‘You can’t repose such faith in life. You’ll definitely pass away before me. Then who’ll offer me liquor? Then I won’t even be able to quit. So it’s better that I worry about it from now on.’

  ‘Don’t dishearten me with such words. Come, sit, take just one glass.’

  ‘Mukhtar Sahib, please don’t press so much. Now that even addicts like Eedu and Jhinku who have sold off their wives’ jewellery to fund their drinking and are complete idiots have taken the oath, am I so shameless as to remain a slave to liquor? Swamiji rescued me from complete disaster. I can’t ignore his pronouncements.’

  Saying so, Rambali also took his leave.

  6

  Munshiji put the cup to his lips, but his desire for liquor abated even before he poured his second drink. It was the first time in his life that he had to sit by himself and drink alcohol as if it was a medicine. First he expressed frustration at his house inmates, inwardly saying, ‘I must have wasted hundreds of rupees on these betrayers, but all of them just deserted me over such a minor issue. Now I lie here alone, like a ghost. There is nobody to converse or joke with. Liquor is a thing enjoyed in company. When the pleasure of company is no longer there, then what good can there be in drinking and lying on the bed here?

  ‘How I was insulted today! When I entered the lane, hundreds of men glared at me with fiery eyes. If they had their way, they would have torn me to pieces when I returned with the liquor. Without the inspector, it would have been difficult to return home. Why this insult and public humiliation? Just so I can enjoy this bitter taste for a moment and get heartburn? There is nobody with whom I can joke and laugh.

  ‘Only today have I experienced how dispensable a thing people think alcohol to be. Otherwise those habitual drunkards for years would not have betrayed me only because of the mere gesture of a sadhu. The truth is, deep within their hearts, everybody considers it detestable. When my milkmen, buggy pullers and palanquin bearers can quit, am I worse than them? What greatness is achieved if I get a bit tipsy in the head after withstanding so many insults, having fallen in people’s eyes, becoming notorious in the entire city, and becoming stubborn? Is it good to let one’s soul suffer such a downfall just to satisfy an evil passion? All four of them must be condemning me at this very moment, must be calling me a scoundrel, and must be thinking of me as fallen. I have fallen lower in the eyes of those fallen ones. It is difficult to bear this condition. I will kill this passion today. I will put an end to this humiliation.’

  Within a moment, a crash was heard. Algu woke up with a start and saw Munshiji standing in the veranda and the bottle lying broken on the floor!

  Translated from the Hindi by Vikas Jain

  The Red Ribbon

  1

  Intelligence is not the birth right of any class and does not follow the rules of inheritance. Mister Hari Bilas was the embodiment of this principle. He was a Kurmi by caste. The hereditary family occupation was agriculture, but right from his childhood his parents recognized his thirst for knowledge and took appropriate measures to encourage it. They did not make him plough the fields. While they ate the coarsest food, wore the coarsest clothes and did all the hard work, there was no dearth of fine things for Hari Bilas. The father couldn’t hide his joy when he saw his son read the Ramayana.

  The father’s head rose with pride when the villagers came to Hari Bilas to have their summons, letters or revenue receipts read out to them. The joy of passing and the sorrow of failing moved the father more than the son. All this further increased Hari Bilas’s craving for knowledge and made him pass all the initial stages until he reached matriculation. Old Ram Bilas had thought that now would be the time to reap the harvest. His enthusiasm cooled down when he learned that this was not the end but just the beginning of education. Hari Bilas’s zeal, however, was not diminished by heat or cold. He entered college with the firm determination that often distinguishes poor but intelligent students. Although he tried to cover his expenses by tutoring the son of a landlord he, from time to time, needed certain sums of money. These had to be procured by Ram Bilas. The poor soul was growing weaker. Farming
is another word for hard labour. Sometimes he could not irrigate his land, sometimes he was not able to plough the fields in time, hence the harvest was spoilt. But he never failed to fulfil Hari Bilas’s needs with faithful devotion. He had to sell some part of his land and mortgage some, and auction off another part to recover his debts.

  Hari Bilas’s MA was the death knell for his property. Fortunately, in those times, the doors to employment were not guarded by selection. Hari Bilas took part in competitive examinations. His success was guaranteed. He got hold of a magistrate’s post. When Ram Bilas got the news he came running to the thakur’s house and fell at his feet. The next day he disappeared, nobody knew where he went. Reality had turned out to be more enchanting than a dream.

  2

  Hari Bilas had been bestowed with a good disposition by nature. He was outspoken, sweet-tongued and a friend of the poor. His most striking attribute was his acute sense of justice. He never deviated an inch from what was lawful. The common people were held in check by his authority, but they nevertheless loved him. His superiors respected him and secretly mistrusted him at the same time.

  He had studied politics thoroughly. This was a field for which he had a special aptitude. He was only guided by the law. He never followed personal orders since he didn’t feel bound by them. He no doubt wanted to keep the officials happy, but only as far as this did not mean transgressing the boundaries of the law.