by Premchand
The consequence was that the same night the oven was pulled out and the hapless widow was left without shelter.
3
Bhungi had no means of livelihood now. With the destruction of the oven the villagers also were much inconvenienced. Many families had to go without food during lunch. The people went to Thakur and pleaded with him to allow Bhungi to run the oven, but he couldn’t care less. ‘She’s a devil and a pig-headed crone. She’ll come to her senses if she has to starve for a couple of days. She has spoilt a sackful of my grains. Must be thinking what harm can I do her! She doesn’t know that it is because of me that she has been living here peacefully.’ Hearing these harsh words from Thakur the people went back to their homes.
One of them said, ‘Why show his authority to a woman who’s almost dead? He should show it to someone who is his equal.’
A second one said, ‘All his authority consists of exploiting the poor. He trembles at the sight of the government emissaries; what to speak of his peers. Well, we live in his village. He can treat us the way he likes.’
Bhungi somehow managed to pass some days. She had earned more grains on the day of Sankranti. When they finished she began to starve. Several people advised her to go to another village and settle down. ‘We’ll go there to build a shack where you can run your oven. You can stay in peace. All zamindars aren’t alike.’ But Bhungi didn’t agree. She had spent fifty years of her difficult life in that village. She had fallen in love with each tree and plant of the village. She knew all the children of the village and they also knew her. The entire village seemed like her house. She had seen many ups and downs in her life in that village. Now, at the fag end of her life, she couldn’t sever her connection with it! The mere thought of it seemed to give her pain. She would rather stay and suffer in that village than leave it for the comforts of another.
An entire month passed in this way. It was early in the morning. Thakur Veer Singh, along with two or three of his servants, was going around collecting taxes. He didn’t trust his agents, and didn’t want to share the customary gifts of money given by tenants to a landlord. Sometimes he’d say, ‘What’s left in being a landlord? After paying off the government and the expenses of the court, one is left with less than ten rupees out of a hundred. We can’t but depend on extra income for all the pomp and show.’ He looked around himself arrogantly, smiled at the greetings of his subjects and walked away. He had great authority and was held in awe by his subjects. Women used to draw their veils and turn away their faces at the sight of him. People sitting on doorsteps stood up in his honour, adjusting their turbans. Some concealed their coconuts from his sight. Wandering around the village with such swagger he walked past Bhungi’s oven. As his gaze fell on the oven he was filled with rage. The oven was being made anew. The old woman was placing heaps of clay on it swiftly. She had probably started working in the dead of the night and wanted to finish it off before sunrise. It was the day of the deity’s worship. As per custom, Bhungi wanted to feed sattu to all the unmarried girls of the village on her chabutara. She always parched grains in her oven on this occasion. She didn’t charge anything for her labour. If the oven was not ready that day how would she parch the grains? If the grains are parched in some other village the deity might get angry and the village might be visited by some calamity. If the thakur got angry, it didn’t matter. The deity must be pleased. If the thakur was displeased the worst he could do was dig up the oven. However, if the deity was displeased, the entire village would suffer. The thakur himself was a devotee of the Goddess; he wouldn’t dare act against her wishes. Even the king is scared of the Goddess, what to speak of Thakur? These thoughts led her to repair the oven. She was so lost in her work that she didn’t realize the presence of the thakur. Suddenly, she heard a voice say, ‘Who gave you permission?’
Startled, Bhungi looked up to see Thakur standing in front of her. She couldn’t reply.
Thakur repeated his question, ‘Who gave you permission?’
Bhungi answered fearlessly, ‘The deity.’
‘I’m the owner of this village, not the deity,’ Thakur thundered.
Bhungi touched her heart with her hands and said, ‘Thakur, don’t utter such words. The deity is the owner of the whole world, what to speak of you and me.’
Thakur said to his servants, ‘What a cantankerous old woman! She wants to scare me in the name of the deity and lower my status in the eyes of others. Smash her oven.’
His servants didn’t dare do this. Thakur was now furious. He called his servants all kinds of names, got down from the horse and gave a mighty kick to the oven. The clay was still wet, it flattened out. As he aimed a second kick, the old woman stood right in front of him and it fell on her back. She stumbled to the ground with her face down. Now, she was also angry. She stroked her back with one hand and said, ‘Thakur, if you don’t fear humans at least fear the gods and deities. What will you gain by destroying me thus? Will you dig up gold from this palm-sized land? I’m saying this for your own good. The curse of the poor will harm you. Don’t hurt me so much.’
Thakur asked, ‘I hope you won’t want to build an oven here again.’
‘What will I eat if I don’t build an oven?’
‘It is not my responsibility to provide for you. Get out of the village.’
‘Why should I go? If a subject ploughs a piece of land for twelve years he becomes a shareholder. I have turned old living in this hut. My father- and mother-in-law and their fathers and forefathers all have lived in this very hut. Now only Yamdoot1 can take me away from here.’
‘So now you are displaying your knowledge of the law. If you had begged and pleaded I might have allowed you to stay, but now I shan’t have a moment’s peace until I’ve turned you out.’ (To the servants.) ‘Go now and set fire to the heap of leaves. Let’s see how she ignites the oven.’
‘Today we’re offering puja to the deity. Let me light the oven. Do whatever you want tomorrow.’
‘You think there’s only your oven in the world? Other villages too have ovens.’
4
In an instant sparks began to fly and the flames rose up to touch the sky. They also began to spread on all sides. The villagers gathered and stood around that mountain of fire. Bhungi was sitting dejectedly near the oven and watching the heart-rending scene. No one knew what thoughts ran through her mind. Such anger against me! All because of this hapless belly. A curse on such a life! Who’s there to call my own that I should bear with all this just to remain alive? What support do I have now? The oven lies smashed. The leaves have turned to ash. Shall I now resort to begging to fill my belly? I have lived most of my life without stretching my hand before anyone. Shall I now live to be pushed around as today? These thoughts brought tears to her eyes. She was overcome by her helplessness and longing. She felt dizzy. Suddenly she ran and jumped into the fire. People came running from all directions but nobody showed the courage to go into the mouth of fire. Thakur was sitting on his horse and watching the scene. The moment Bhungi entered the fire he jumped like lightning from his horse and in an instant entered the flames. The crowd was stunned and stood there with bated breath. In no time Thakur came out holding Bhungi in his lap. His clothes had caught fire. Bhungi’s clothes, too, were in flames. She was unconscious. People took off the blankets they were wearing and put them around Thakur. Nobody bothered about Bhungi. They were all busy looking after Thakur. Luckily, the fire didn’t cause any harm to his body, only his skin was scorched in places. But Bhungi’s body was badly burnt.
Half an hour passed. The flames were still burning. Thakur still held Bhungi in his lap as tears trickled down his face. The women of his house had also arrived there. Someone was fanning Bhungi while someone else was applying balm on her injuries. Others were suggesting home remedies.
Suddenly, Thakur said, ‘Send someone to the city to bring a doctor immediately.’
His wife said, ‘She’ll be all right with the help of home remedies. Why should you call
in a doctor?’
‘If she dies I’ll drink poison.’
‘She won’t die now.’
Thakur said eagerly, ‘Yes, if I have my way, she won’t die of shock. She’ll die a natural death.’
5
Thakur Veer Singh was not known to be a nice person in his area. This event made him popular with the high and the low. All his subjects praised him for his valour. But his fellow zamindars termed it as a temporary loss of judgement. To them, it was pointless to jump into fire for such an old woman. Her death wouldn’t have made the world bereft. She had no one in the world to cry over her. But if the zamindar had died, he would have left his family without an heir.
A month had passed. Bhungi was lying down in Thakur’s house and Thakur was sitting beside her bed. Bhungi said, ‘Brother, I’ve recovered now. Why don’t you allow me to run my oven? How long will I stay here? It’s been a long time.’
Thakur said, ‘Sister, are you bored? Do you have any discomfort here?’
Bhungi replied, ‘Yes, brother. I’m bored. Won’t one get bored eating goodies and staying idle all day long? What discomfort can be greater than this? Brother, didn’t you feel any fear when you jumped into the fire after me? Why should you have risked your life for an old woman? I always wonder what thoughts ran through your mind at that moment.’
Thakur said, ‘I had no time to think. It was as though I was in a trance. I was not myself. My steps advanced towards the fire automatically. I didn’t care what I was doing and why. It was as though I had lost my senses. Everything happened on its own. God wanted to save me from disgrace. What else?’
Translated from the Urdu by M. Asaduddin
A Battle of Ideals
1
Mr Dayakrishna Mehta’s feet touched the earth no more. His ambition, his life’s sweetest dream, had been fulfilled. He had achieved the position which, for Indians, was heavenly bliss. The viceroy had appointed him a member of his executive council.
His friends dropped in to congratulate him. The festive spirit was everywhere: feasts thrown in his honour, congratulatory letters. It was not considered an individual achievement but a national one. Even the English authorities walked hand-in-hand with him.
Dayakrishna was a well-known barrister of Lucknow—large-hearted, politically adept and socially responsible. He was eternally involved in social activities. In the bureaucracy of the country, there was no one so detached or as outspokenly critical. Nor was there among the public anyone so astute, so trustworthy and so sympathetic.
There was a lot of activity in the newspapers regarding his appointment. One set of voices said—‘We cannot congratulate the government for this selection.’ Voices from the other side said—‘This is a supreme example of the generosity and social responsibility of the government.’ There was a third group, too, which, in a subdued voice, said—‘Another pillar of the empire has fallen.’
It was evening. A party for Dayakrishna was held at Kesar Park by the liberals! Important people from all over the region had gathered there. After dinner, the president said in his speech, ‘We are confident that your initiation into power will be beneficial for the masses, and that through your efforts, improvements will be made in those laws that are detrimental to the life of the nation.’
Dayakrishna answered, ‘The laws of the state are subject to contemporary situations. As long as there is no change in these situations, it would be illusory to expect progress in the legal system.’
The meeting got over. One group said, ‘How judicious and praiseworthy is the political system!’ Another party said, ‘He has fallen into the trap.’ The third party shook its head in disappointment but didn’t voice its opinion.
2
Dayakrishna had been in Delhi for a month now. It was a Phagun evening. He was seated on a velvet reclining chair near the pond in a corner of his garden. Mrs Rajeshwari Mehta was seated before him practising the piano and Miss Manorama was feeding biscuits to the fish in the pond. She asked her father, ‘Who is the gentleman that just dropped by?’
‘A military member of the council.’
‘He must be under the viceroy, right?’
‘All of us are under the viceroy. Our salaries are all equal but no one can aspire to his merits. Why, Rajeshwari, haven’t you noticed how gentle and well-mannered the English are?’
Rajeshwari said, ‘I consider him to be the very embodiment of courteousness. They are better than us in this aspect too. How lovingly his wife embraced me!’
Manorama was ecstatic. ‘I feel like falling at her feet.’
Dayakrishna added: ‘I have never seen anyone so noble, so refined, so sincere, so virtuous. Our laws of kindness exist only in name. It gives me great sorrow to realize that I have been suspicious of them for so long. In short, the complaints that we have against them are simply because of a lack of mutual interaction. We are not well-versed in each other’s character and nature.’
Rajeshwari averred, ‘We are in sore need of a union club where both groups can have the pleasure of each other’s company. It is the only means of dissipating misconceptions.’
Dayakrishna said, ‘I agree with you.’ He looked at the clock and continued, ‘It’s seven; time for the festivities of the business union. The Indians are in a peculiar state. They believe that an Indian member of the council is the representative of Indians and can work independently. They hope that he can overturn the laws of the incumbent regime and create a new sky and a new sun. They do not consider the limits within which such members function.’
‘But it’s hardly their fault. It is natural that people have all kinds of expectations from one of their own. Now that half the members of the council are Indians, won’t their decisions have any influence on the government’s laws?’
‘Of course they will. In fact, they are influencing laws. But a complete change in the laws is not possible. Even if all the members are Indians, new laws cannot be introduced. How can they forget that their membership in the council is dependent on the grace and trust of the government? Apart from that, once they get there and get to know the internal affairs, they realize that the majority of their concerns are unfounded. The responsibilities of the post also bear down heavily on them. While framing a new law, it is natural that doubts may arise in their minds as to whether or not it will meet the expectations of the people. Consequently, their independence is destroyed. They are wary of meeting those people who have been their accomplices but who, due to their lack of restraint, have become motes in the eyes of the government. They talk about justice and truth in their speeches and in spite of knowing that the laws of the government are injurious still voice their support of it. If they cannot do anything against the system, why would they voice their dissent and suffer shame? In situations like these, the only way is to save oneself through flattery. And the biggest problem is that saying anything against such gentle, generous, and knowledgeable people is like throttling humanity and good conduct. Oh, see, the car is here! Come on, people must have already assembled at the business meeting.’
When they reached the venue, they heard the sound of applause. The president had already read his address, the gist of which was that the government must protect the handicrafts that are liquidated in the face of national competition. For the economic uplift of the country, new factories must be opened and when they turn successful, they must be handed over to economic unions. It is also their responsibility to support those crafts which are still in their infancy so that the public can feel encouraged.
After thanking the president, Dayakrishna announced the industrial laws of the government by saying: ‘Your formulations are blameless. However, bringing them into practice is very complicated. The government may supply you with finances but taking forward the business initiative is the responsibility of the public. You must bear in mind the fact that even God helps only those who help themselves. You are lacking in self-confidence and business sense. Stretching out your hands before the government at each and ev
ery step shows your inability.’
The next day, critiques of this speech were published. One party said, ‘Mr Mehta has very lucidly and unambiguously explained the laws of the government.’
The second group wrote, ‘We were stunned after reading Mr Mehta’s speech. The business council has taken the very path shown by Mr Mehta. He has proved the common saying, “Anything that enters a salt mine turns into salt.”’
The third group wrote, ‘We are totally in agreement with Mr Mehta on the point that we must not grovel before the government at every step. This speech must have opened the eyes of those who say that we must send our ablest men to the council. We feel sorry for the members of the business council who travelled from Kanpur to Delhi for a sermon about self-confidence.’
3
It was the month of Chait. Shimla had grown mellow. Dayakrishna was seated in his library reading when Rajeshwari came in and asked, ‘What kind of a letter is this?’
Dayakrishna replied, ‘This is a matter pertaining to business transactions. It will be produced in the council next week. I had and still have reservations about some of their propositions. Now, I do not understand how I can approve of them. See, three crore rupees have been earmarked for increasing the salaries of high officials. Already, the salaries of these officials are quite high. A further increment is unnecessary, but how do I bring these words to my tongue? All those who are to benefit from this are my daily acquaintances. Military expenses have gone up by twenty crore. When our armies are sent to foreign countries, it is judicious to assume our necessities will increase. However, if I make my opposition to this known, the council will point fingers at me.’
‘It is not right for you to keep quiet out of fear. Besides, if you do so, of what use is your being here?’