The Complete Short Stories

by Premchand

  Hari Bilas looked at the people and said, ‘You know what papers these were? These were my father’s mortgage documents.’ He was so moved that he could not utter a word.

  Translated from the Urdu by Christina Oesterheld

  When Rivals Became Friends

  1

  The families of Jokhu Bhagat and Bechan Chaudhary had been enemies for three generations. The dispute was related to farm boundaries. Their great-grandfathers had engaged each other in many bloody fights. The fathers began litigation and even went to the high court several times. In the sons’ times, the war escalated so much that both became powerless. At one time, each had owned one half of the village. Now they did not possess any land except for the disputed plot. Land, wealth, prestige—all was lost but the dispute stood as it was. The legal luminaries of the high court proved incapable of solving a petty land issue!

  The two gentlemen had caused the village to be divided into two camps. If the first group smoked its hemp at Chaudhary’s doorstep, the other smoked its weed at Bhagat’s. The women and children, too, had their own camps. The antagonism was such that the two gentlemen held opposing social and religious beliefs. Chaudhary took his meals with his shirt on and declared Bhagat a pretender. Bhagat would not even drink water without undressing and announced that Chaudhary was morally corrupt. When Bhagat styled himself as a Sanatani Hindu, Chaudhary turned himself into an Arya Samaji. For Bhagat, it was a sin to even look towards the drapers, grocers and vendors whom Chaudhary dealt with. And Bhagat’s confectioner’s confectioneries, milkman’s milk, and oilman’s oil were dispensable for Chaudhary. The enmity was such that even their theories concerning health were divergent. Bhagat was an Ayurveda fan, while Chaudhary believed in the Unani tradition. They would not forsake their principles even if they were to die of disease.

  2

  When the buzz of political agitation for Independence started in the country, it reached the village too. Chaudhary supported the movement and Bhagat turned into an opponent. A gentleman arrived in the village to open a peasant forum. While Chaudhary participated in it, Bhagat stayed away. As political awareness increased, there was talk of Swaraj. Chaudhary became a Swaraji, and Bhagat defended loyalty to the Crown. Chaudhary’s house turned into a Swaraji den, and Bhagat’s house into a club of Crown loyalists. Chaudhary began canvassing for Swaraj: ‘Friends! Swaraj means self-rule. Is it better to have self-rule in one’s own country or someone else’s rule?’

  The people cheered, ‘Self-rule! That is better.’

  Chaudhary said, ‘So how can this Swaraj be achieved? Through self-power, through human effort, through unity. Stop hating each other; resolve your disputes through mutual consultation.’

  Someone remarked, ‘You yourself go to court every day.’

  Chaudhary replied, ‘Yes, but if I go to court any more, declare me as much a sinner as a cow killer. You should use your hard-earned money to sustain your wives and children, and any spare money should be spent in charity. Why should you enrich lawyers and attorneys, bribe the police and supplicate the government officers? Earlier, when our boys were taught the tenets of our dharma, they grew to be ethical, sacrificing and hard-working. Now they study in English schools and take up jobs, accept bribes, practise vices, ridicule our gods, smoke cigarettes, celebrate the New Year and supplicate themselves before officials. Is it not our duty to educate our boys in accordance with dharma?’

  People: ‘We should collect donations and open a school.’

  Chaudhary: ‘Earlier, we considered it sinful to even touch alcohol. Now, every street in every village has liquor shops. We blow away crores of our hard-earned money on hemp and liquor.’

  People: ‘One who takes hemp and liquor must be penalized.’

  Chaudhary: ‘Our forefathers, old and young, all wore handwoven coarse cloth. Our grandmothers spun the charkha. Thus, all the wealth stayed in the country, and our weaver brothers were happy and content. Now, we are almost willing to give up our lives for foreign-made coloured fabric. It is thus that the foreigners are draining our wealth. The poor weavers have become destitute. Is it righteous of us to take away our brothers’ food and give it to others?’

  People: ‘But coarse cloth is not available anywhere.’

  Chaudhary: ‘Then wear homemade coarse cloth, don’t take your disputes to courts, quit addiction, educate your boys in dharma and righteous action, stay united. That—that is Swaraj. Those saying that blood will flow for Swaraj are mad. Don’t pay any attention to them.’

  People listened to this with fervour. The audience grew in size every day. All turned into Chaudhary’s devotees.

  3

  Bhagatji also began preaching about loyalty to the Crown.

  ‘Brothers! The king’s task is to rule and the subject’s task is to obey his commands. This is what loyalty to the monarch means. And our scriptures, too, tell of the same loyalty. The king is God’s deputy. To disobey him is a great crime. A traitor deserves nothing but hell!’

  First interjection: ‘The king, too, ought to practise his dharma.’

  Second interjection: ‘Our king is just ceremonial. The British businessmen and bankers are the real rulers.’

  Third interjection: ‘Businessmen only know how to earn money. What do they know of governance?’

  Bhagat: ‘People tell you not to go to courts and take your disputes to panchayats. But where can you find the panch who can deliver true justice, and separate milk from water? At the panchayat, people talk to please one another. Those who can mount pressure will win, and those who can’t will lose. In the court, all action is based on law. Everybody—high and low—is equal. The hunter and the hunted sip from the same pond.’

  Another interjection: ‘Court justice is all empty talk. Only the ones with fake witnesses and experienced lawyers win. Who tests the true and the false? And there is, of course, harassment involved.’

  Bhagat: ‘We are told not to use foreign goods. This is gross injustice to the poor. We should buy the cheap and nice goods available in the market, be it Swadeshi or foreign. We don’t get our money for free that we should throw it away for useless Swadeshi goods.’

  First interjection: ‘At least the money stays in our country and doesn’t go into foreign hands.’

  Second interjection: ‘Not getting a good meal in one’s own kitchen does not mean that we’ll eat from the kitchens of other castes.’

  Bhagat: ‘People tell us not to send our boys to government schools. Without an English education, how could our brothers have found such prestigious jobs, how could they have established such huge industries? It is not possible to cope in the world any more without modern education. Old-style education can equip you only to read the almanac and recite scripture. Will the interpreters of almanacs and horoscopes rule us?’

  First interjection: ‘We don’t want to rule. We are happy with farming; at least we aren’t dependent on anybody.’

  Second interjection: ‘It is better to stay ignorant than receive an education that makes one arrogant. Modern education makes them don suits and boots, watches and canes and hats, and fills the pockets of the foreigners just to satisfy their fancy. They are traitors.’

  Bhagat: ‘These days people are strict about hemp and liquor; everybody knows that addiction is bad. The government earns crores of rupees annually from shops that sell intoxicants. It would be good if people could quit addiction by merely not visiting these liquor stores. But even if someone doesn’t visit these shops, he will satisfy his urge somehow, on the sly, willing to be imprisoned. Then why do something that will cause losses to the government and also to the poor ryot? Also, some people benefit from consuming intoxicants. I myself suffer joint pain, exhaustion and cold if I don’t take opium.’

  A voice: ‘Taking liquor makes the body nimble.’

  First interjection: ‘The government makes money by sinful means. It is unbecoming of them. How can the subjects’ well-being be ensured under the rule of an unrighteous government?’

/>   Second interjection: ‘First they make people drink liquor and go mad. Once addicted, there is loss of money. Who gets enough wages to support both food and clothing, as well as intoxication? Either let your wife and children go hungry or indulge in theft, gambling and cheating. What is a liquor shop? Nothing but a den of our slavery!’

  4

  People gathered in droves to listen to Chaudhary’s preachings. They could not find enough space to stand. His prestige increased every day. The daily gathering at his house discussed national development, which delighted people, and so they participated zealously. Their political knowledge grew. He was aware of his distinction and importance. He began to feel a sense of power. Tyranny and injustice now made him scowl. He had tasted freedom. Homemade cotton, homemade yarn, homemade food, homemade court; no fear of the police, no supplication before government officials—he was living in pleasure and peace. Many people quit their addictions and there was a wave of good faith.

  However, Bhagat was not so fortunate. People became increasingly bored of his preachings. So much so that his audience often consisted of nobody other than the government accountant, sentry, teacher, and such others. Sometimes some big officers showed up and honoured Bhagat. On such occasions, Bhagat found some consolation and his tears would stop. But how could momentary honour compensate for round-the-clock humiliation? There were fingers pointed at him wherever he went. Some named him a supplicating mule, others called him an informer of the secret police. All that Bhagat could do on hearing his rival being praised and himself being condemned was grind his teeth. It was the first time in his life that he had to lower his eyes in public. The family honour that he had been guarding for ages, and for which he had sacrificed everything, now lay in lowly dust. This fiery angst did not allow him a moment’s relief. His everyday concern was how to restore the lost prestige, how to humiliate his rival, how to shatter his confidence?

  Finally, he decided upon beating the lion in his own den.

  5

  It was evening time. There was a huge meeting at Chaudhary’s doorstep. Peasants from nearby villages were also in attendance, with the crowd numbering thousands. Chaudhary was lecturing them on the subject of Swaraj. Chants of ‘Victory to Mother India’ rent the air repeatedly. Women had gathered on one side. Chaudhary finished his speech and sat down. Just as volunteers were beginning to collect contributions for the Swaraj fund, Bhagat leapt in from somewhere, stood in the audience and spoke in a raised voice:

  ‘Brothers! Don’t be surprised at seeing me here. I’m not an opponent of Swaraj who is so fallen as to ridicule it, but it can’t be achieved through Chaudhary’s means of which you all have become fans. What can panchayats do when there are schisms and fights amongst us? How can addiction be stemmed and liquor stores boycotted if the head is steeped in debauchery? How can cigarette, soap, socks, vests and muslin be given up? How can government schools be abandoned and freedom from foreign education obtained if there is desire for glory and power? There is only one way to Swaraj and that is self-control. Only this panacea will root out all your ills. Strengthen your soul, tame your senses, control your mind. It is thus that you will engender brotherhood. Only then will enmity decline, only then will jealousy and hate be destroyed, only then will your heart turn away from luxury and indulgence, only then can addiction be curbed. Swaraj can never be achieved without self-empowerment. Self-service is the root of all sin. It is this that takes you to court; it is this that has made you a slave to sinful education. Kill this demon through self-empowerment and your wish will be obtained. Everybody knows I’ve been consuming opium for forty years. From today, opium and cow’s blood will be the same for me. I’ve had an enmity with Chaudhary for three generations. From today, I declare Chaudhary to be my brother. From today, if you see me or anybody from my family wearing anything other than cloth made from homespun fabric, punish me as you like. This is all I have to say. May the Almighty fulfil all your wishes.’

  Saying this, Bhagat turned homewards and Chaudhary ran to embrace him. The animus of three generations was destroyed in one moment.

  That day onwards Chaudhary and Bhagat together started preaching about Swaraj. They developed a strong friendship and it was difficult to tell whom people respected more.

  Rivalry was the spark that ignited the hearts of both the men.

  Translated from the Hindi by Vikas Jain

  A Positive Change

  1

  There was a village by the name of Beera in the Patna region. An old, helpless Gond woman known as Bhungi lived there. She didn’t have an inch of land or a home to live in. She only had a parching oven. The villagers were accustomed to having just one meal a day of parched grains or gram flour. That’s why there was always a crowd around Bhungi’s oven. She ate whatever grains she earned from parching the grains of others. Sometimes she ground them and ate the powder. She slept in a corner of the shack beside the oven. She woke up early in the morning to gather dry leaves from all around to light the oven. One always saw a mound of leaves close to the oven. She lit the oven in the afternoon. But on Ekadashi and Poornmasi, the oven was not lit, and on the days when Thakur Veer Singh, the zamindar of the village, ordered her to parch his grains, she had to go to bed hungry. Not only did she have to parch Thakur’s grains free of cost, she also had to fetch water for his household. She lived in his village and, hence, he had the right to extract work from her without payment. This could not be considered injustice. The only injustice was that he never gave her a tip. He felt that if he had to pay her something, then what was the point of unpaid labour? After all, the farmer had the right to make his oxen work the field the entire day and then tether them to the pole without giving them fodder. And if he did not do that, it was not because of his kindness but because of sheer necessity. Thakur, in principle, was averse to paying wages. He had no concern for Bhungi because she wouldn’t die even if she went hungry for an entire day. Old people did not die so easily; they were adept at giving the slip to the Angel of Death. And, God forbid, even if she chose to kick the bucket then, in her place, another Gond woman could easily be installed at the parching oven.

  2

  It was the month of Chait and was one day before the festival of Sankranti. That day, in Bihar and other districts, people partook of gram flour from newly harvested grains and also gave it away as alms. People had not lit the stoves in their homes. Bhungi’s oven was teeming with people. She didn’t have a moment to spare. She was getting annoyed with customers for showing undue haste and said, ‘I’ve just one pair of hands, not two. And if I don’t parch the grains well, you’ll call me names!’ In the meantime, two big baskets of grains arrived from the thakur’s house with the order to parch them immediately. Bhungi was alarmed. It was already afternoon, and it was difficult to parch all the grains before sunset. If she had had one or two more hours of work, she could have earned enough grains to last the following eight days. But God didn’t show her this much pity. Instead, He sent her these angels of death! Now she had to burn herself at the oven through the night. On top of it, they’d find fault with her for no reason—‘the grains have decreased in amount’, ‘you haven’t parched them enough’, ‘you’ve parched them too hard’, ‘you’ve taken too much time’. She put aside both baskets despairingly.

  The servant warned her, ‘Don’t be late, you’ll regret it.’

  Bhungi replied, ‘You can sit here and wait. When I finish parching, take them along. Chop off my hands if I touch anybody else’s grain before finishing yours.’

  ‘We don’t have permission to sit here, but see to it that they’re roasted by evening.’ Warning her, the servant went away and Bhungi started parching the grains. The other customers raised a clamour: ‘We’ve been waiting for two hours and you haven’t parched our grains. How will we have flour tomorrow?’

  Bhungi said peevishly, ‘What can I do? It’s Thakur’s job. If I don’t do it where will I live? Didn’t you have a tongue in your head? Why didn’t you ask his servants
that if they dumped such a huge quantity of grain on me, how could I parch yours?’

  Helpless, people picked up their baskets and walked away. Bhungi became busy in her work with frantic energy. But it was no joke to parch grains weighing about a maund, especially when during the course of the work one had to leave the roasting and rake the embers to keep the oven warm. By late evening she hadn’t finished even half the work. She feared that the zamindar’s servants would be on their way. And as soon as they arrived they’d start abusing her. She became even more frantic. Her gaze was fixed on the doorway while she kept working the oven. The sand cooled down and the grains came up half-parched. Her hands were frozen from working the heavy iron ladle continuously. She didn’t know what to do and began to weep. ‘I don’t know why God has forsaken me! So many people die every day, even death has forgotten me. Those who suffer in this world aren’t shown any mercy in the other world too. Who cares for me? I shed my blood to earn some grains. But Thakur is always after my life, simply because I live in his village. Is this small patch of land worth so much? There are so many plots that lie fallow in the village, so many households that lie deserted. Those lands do not produce kesar, then why should I live under threat all the time? And at the slightest excuse they threaten to dig up my oven and throw me away. If I had somebody to protect me then I wouldn’t have to put up with their threats.’

  She was engrossed in such thoughts when the two servants arrived and asked, ‘Have you roasted the grains?’

  Bhungi said fearlessly, ‘I’m doing it. Can’t you see?’

  ‘The whole day is over and you haven’t yet finished parching the grains? And are you parching the grains or just wasting them! These are just half-parched, how will anyone make flour out of them? Just wait and watch how the thakur deals with you today.’