by Premchand
‘It is easy to say but hard to implement. Any respect I get here is due to my supplication. If the viceroy’s attitude towards me changes, no one will come to me. See, Raja Badra Bahadur Singh is here.’
‘Is Shivrajpur a big kingdom?’
‘Its annual revenue is not less than fifteen lakh, and it is an independent state.’
‘Raja Sahib is quite attracted to Manorama. It seems Manorama has also fallen for him.’
‘Nothing could be better than if this match were to happen. It is my authority that attracts Raja Sahib here. Did we have this good fortune in Lucknow? Look, the finance secretary Mr Kak is here.’
Kak shook Dayakrishna’s hands and said, ‘Mrs Mehta, I adore your dress. It is a pity that our ladies do not wear saris.’
Rajeshwari said, ‘I would like to wear a gown.’
Kak didn’t like the idea. ‘No, Mrs Mehta, for the love of God, do not commit such an outrage! Mr Mehta, I have brought you some very happy news. Is your noble son arriving soon? Maharaja Bhind would like to consider him for the post of his private secretary. Please inform him urgently.’
‘I am indebted to you,’ said Dayakrishna gratefully.
‘It would be nice if you sent him a telegram. You must have read the report about Kabul. His Majesty Amir does not seem eager to enter into an agreement with us. He has turned to the Bolsheviks. The matter is worth concern.’
‘I do not think so. In the past century, Kabul has not found the courage to attack India. Even India has not taken a step forward. Yes, they are quite capable of defending themselves.’
‘I beg your pardon, but you seem to forget that a coalition has been formed between Iran–Afghanistan and the Bolsheviks. Is the assembly of so many enemies at our border not alarming? It is our duty to be wary of them.’
By now, it was time for lunch. The party sat at the table. The conversation changed to horse racing and dance.
4
Dayakrishna’s opinions on the budget raised a storm all over India. One group took his opinions as the holy writ, the second, apart from disagreeing with him on some clauses, largely accepted his opinions. However, the third group shook its head in disappointment at each and every word of the speech and wept over the downfall of India. They couldn’t believe that these words could come out of Dayakrishna’s mouth.
‘I am surprised that the non-governmental members have unequivocally opposed those sections of the proposal on which are dependent the security, peace and progress of the nation. They considered educational reforms, medical reforms and the expansion of canals more important. They were more concerned with the lower income employees. I had greater confidence in their political knowledge. The chief duty of the state is to safeguard the country from internal and external non-peaceful forces. Education and medical care, industry and business, are basic duties. We can see the entire population of our country blissful in a sea of ignorance, we can keep them under the threat of plague and malaria, we can make the lower-income employees fodder for our thought, we can leave the peasants at the mercy of the weather, but we cannot tolerate an enemy standing at the border of our country.
‘If the entire national income is directed towards the security of the country, it would not be a problem for you. You would say that we are not currently under the threat of any attack. I believe that the world is one of uncertainty. Trains can run in the air, water can catch fire, trees can hold a conversation. The roots can be more alert. Does this secret not manifest itself to us each day? You would say that the work of politicians is not to run after probabilities but to solve problems of the present and the immediate future. I would not like to get into a debate regarding the duties of politicians; however, everyone knows that prevention is better than cure. Your responsibility is not merely to sanction military expenditure but to present your own opinion! You would say that the strength of volunteers should be increased. The government has just confronted an uncomfortable issue in this regard. The educated class is debauched, cowardly and self-serving. The people of the countryside are peace-loving, narrow minded (I won’t call them cowards) and domesticated. Where is the self-sacrifice, the courage, the courage of their ancestors? And it might be unnecessary to point out that no pacifist public can be turned fighters within a couple of years.’
5
It was the month of Jeth but in Shimla, there were neither scorching winds nor punishing heat. Dayakrishna was opening letters that had come from abroad. Seeing Balakrishna’s letter he was delighted, but on reading it, sadness covered his face. He took the letter to Rajeshwari.
She asked in enthusiasm, ‘Has a letter come from Bala?’
‘Yes, this is it.’
‘When is he coming?’
‘He has written nothing about it. The entire letter is a lament on my treachery and denouement. According to him, I am an enemy of the nation, selfish, a damned soul, all of that. I do not understand what has caused such a difference in his thought. I used to consider him a very peaceful, grave, strong-willed and ethical young man and used to take pride in him. And not satisfied with this letter, he has published a detailed critique of my speech in an esteemed English magazine. He has been careful enough not to publish the article under his own name or I would not be eligible to show my face anywhere. I don’t understand whose bad company has led to this. According to him, the job under Maharaja Bhind is slavery and Manorama’s marriage to Raja Bhadra Bahadur Singh is disgusting and shameful. He has grown so bold as to call me artful, crafty, a seller of ideals, betrayer of the clan! Such shame! I do not want to see his face again . . . ’
‘Here, let me take a look at the letter! He was never so bare-faced.’
Saying this, she took the letter from her husband’s hand and, after having read half of it within a minute, said, ‘Where are the cruel words in it? I do not find a single bad word in it.’
‘Look at the tone, do not go by the words alone.’
‘When there is a gulf between your ideals, how can he be respectful to you?’
However, Dayakrishna was losing his patience. He was further inflamed by Rajeshwari’s words. He went to his office in this state of mind and started writing a letter, each word of which was sharper than a knife or a machete.
Two weeks after this incident when Dayakrishna opened his outstation mail, there was no letter from Balakrishna. He thought that his attack had worked, that Balakrishna had returned to the straight path and had, thus, not been brave enough to reply. He then opened the London Times (he read this paper with great enthusiasm) and looked at the telegrams. A gasp escaped his mouth, the newspaper fell from his hands, and opened at the first news story:
‘Meeting of Indian Patriots at London, Disappointment with the Speech of Honourable Mister Mehta, Mister Balakrishna Mehta’s Opposition and Suicide’
Last Saturday, a mass gathering of Indian youths and leaders was conducted at Baxton Hall. The president, Mr Talibaja said, ‘Even a prolonged search would not reveal a speech so heart-rending and so cruel from any English member of the council. We have not heard a more misleading, more tyrannical opinion from the mouth of any statesman. This speech has proved that there is no salvation for India other than self-rule, the essence of which is complete freedom of mind and expression. If we had not lost faith in evolution so far, have we done so now? Our illness has become malignant. This cannot be cured by powders and syrup. It’s not recuperation that we need but rejuvenation. Higher posts do not make us independent; instead, it increases the potency of our initial subjugation. It is our firm conviction that Mr Mehta covertly considers false the very opinions he has propagated; however, desire for respect, desire for credit and desire for the post has compelled him to strangle his soul . . .’
[Someone said aloud: ‘This is a false accusation.’]
The people looked on in surprise as Mr Balakrishna remained standing in position. His body trembled with rage. He wanted to say something but people surrounded him and started blaming and showering indignities upon him.
The president managed to quieten the crowd with great difficulty but Mr Balakrishna walked away.
The next day when his friends came to visit him, they found Balakrishna’s corpse on the floor. Two bullets from his pistol had found their way to his heart. On the open pages of the diary lying on his desk, they found the following lines:
‘My pride was let down at the meeting today. I cannot bear this insult. I do not know how much blame I’ll have to face on account of my venerable father. It would be better to end this battle of ideals. It is likely that my life will be an obstacle on his unyielding path. May God grant me strength!’
Translated from the Hindi by Shalim M. Hussain
A Philosopher’s Love
1
Lala Gopinath had been inclined towards philosophy right from early youth. He had barely reached class twelve when names like Mill and Berkeley had become quite familiar to him. He would stay away from any kind of recreational or other activities of interest, to the extent that even a college cricket match could not arouse his urge for entertainment. He would run away from the company of spirited, interesting or light-hearted friends. Talking to him about the affairs of the heart or women was like showing the cross to the devil. Tucking a volume on philosophy under his arm, he would set out for a spot under some shady tree outside the city, spending the day absorbed in deep study. He was the last person to be interested in fiction, poetry or creative writing of any kind. Chances were that he hadn’t read even a single work of fiction in his entire life. He regarded the reading of such creative writing as not just a waste of time but also harmful for one’s mental health. Added to this, he had no dearth of national fervour in him, and had great interest in social service schemes. He wouldn’t let an opportunity to serve his compatriots slip from his hands. Often, he would ensconce himself in a joint of some small-time local shopkeeper and listen avidly to tales of profit and loss and economic worries.
Gopinath gradually lost interest in college life. If any subject interested him, it was philosophy. The college curriculum had become an obstacle in his specialized pursuit of it. Quitting college, he was free to devote himself entirely to the study of philosophy. But his enthusiasm for social service also began to grow, along with his fetish for philosophy. As was inevitable, he soon began to be seen in the company of the social workers of the city. Philosophy brought scepticism and a feeling of being in the dark, and tension of the spirit, while community service offered fame, honour and the benefits of both. His vitality and vigour, which had lain buried beneath the veneer of philosophical debates for ages, was reignited with a vengeance and Gopinath jumped into the scene of community development with a bang. The scene was quiet and the field clear. There was no dearth of flag-bearers, but a heart which held sincere desire for service was hard to find. He found himself very much in demand. Before long, he was pulled into becoming the secretary of one organization, president of another, or playing some or the other such role. The penchant for philosophy got lost somewhere in his enthusiasm for service. The bird that used to sing in confinement forgot its melodies in the open fields. Though he continued the practice of spending some time turning over the pages of his favourite philosophy books for a short while every day, there was no scope for deeper reflection or inquiry in this direction. However, he would often find himself in the throes of a dilemma. Where should I head? This way or that? If philosophy pulled him in one direction, love for community service pulled him in another. One day, as he sat on the banks of the river Ganga, ridden with similar confusion, he noticed that the river continued on its course, eagerly flowing towards its destination, unaware of the din on its banks and unaffected by the strong blowing wind. Why don’t I emulate the river, thought the philosopher. He began to try and recall the name of some philosopher who had involved himself in community service while also diving in the ocean of Reality. Pandit Tribhuvan Nath Agnihotri, a professor at his college, strolled up just then.
‘So, how’s life?’ he asked.
Gopinath replied indifferently, ‘Nothing special, life goes on at its own pace.’
Tribhuvan Nath asked, ‘Whose name have you proposed for municipal ward number twenty-one?’
Gopinath said in reply, ‘Let’s see who gets selected. Aren’t you one of the prospectives too?’
‘I have been coaxed into it by the people, though I hardly have the time.’
‘I agree with you, I don’t think a professor should dabble in active politics.’
Tribhuvan Nath felt annoyed. After a moment’s silence, he spoke, trying to get even with him, ‘Do you still spend as much time reading philosophy as you did earlier?’
‘Very little. I am caught in a state of indecision. Should I join the nationalist movement full-time or devote my life to the pursuit of Truth?’
‘The time for you to dabble in nationalist movements will come later. Now is the time for you to acquire knowledge and till such time as you achieve stability and seriousness of belief you should not think of entering new fields impulsively. You are still young. Serving the nation calls for great responsibility.’
Gopinath made his decision. He would devote his life to the service of the nation. Tribhuvan Nath made his decision too. He would show them how one could combine teaching with serving the municipality.
2
Gopinath already occupied some status in life with a well-to-do family behind him. They were dealers in sugar and gold and silver. His father was a renowned businessman in his area. There were two older brothers who followed in his father’s trade. There was unity in the family in addition to wealth. It was a thriving family with several children. All that was lacking was education, and a reputation in educated circles. Gopinath got them that too. His lack of employment did not bother anyone. No one forced him to think of his bread and butter. With no anxieties of any kind, he surrendered himself totally to social welfare with complete freedom. He would collect funds for an orphanage at one place or go asking for charity for a destitute girl’s marriage at another. His selflessness, accompanied by strong determination, had infused new life into social welfare activities. Such activities kept him busy from morning to evening, sometimes even up until night. Seeing him standing, morning and evening, with his donation notebook tucked under his arms at the doorsteps of the affluent had become a familiar sight. Gradually, the number of his followers increased. People described him as unselfish, selfless, sacrificing and a true servant of the masses. It was rare to come across someone labouring so selflessly for a purely social cause. Even such people who were not beholden to him in any way felt inspired by him. At times, he would even have to endure indifference and hostility at the hands of the wealthy, to the extent of putting up with rebukes and censure. Every passing day, he realized that social service is more or less the same as devoting oneself to the task of asking for donations. For this purpose, he would have to pay court to the wealthy, in other words, flatter them. What a vast difference existed between a disinterested study of philosophy and this social begging. Sitting in seclusion and quarrelling with the likes of Mill, Kant, Spencer and Spinoza over the truths of life and death, the spirit and matter was one extreme, and bowing one’s proud head before haughty, undeserving and crude businessmen another. He looked down upon them personally. ‘How are they superior to me except for their wealth? Most of them have earned their wealth through suspicious and underhand means. Nevertheless, all of them are my benefactors. All my desires for service depend on them and their benevolence. Could I possibly be rid of this dependence on them?’
Many years passed. Gopinath was now regarded as a respected citizen of the city. He was a source of compassion for the poor and a patron of the needy. Having crossed thirty years of age, marriage had become a raging subject in his life. Gopinath had been postponing the issue all along, but matters had reached a head now. One day his father issued the ultimatum of consuming poison if he refused again. ‘At no cost will I tolerate disrepute. This will certainly lead to scandal one day.’ Gopinath was c
aught in a fix. Weeks passed without his being able to resolve the issue. Community and the self were battling with each other. Marriage meant the narrowing of one’s concerns and restricting one’s vast world within the four walls of home. It meant becoming as good as dead for the community and living life only for the family. He considered it an insult to descend from his elevated station now. Besides, he somehow knew that he didn’t have what it takes. Qualities like effort, tolerance, persistence and forbearance, required for earning a living, had become extinct in him. Social service too had its share of running around and effort, but pretences of selflessness and elevated thinking could still be maintained. It’s a matter of pride to beg for one’s community but a shame to nurse a desire for returns for one’s labour. Having a family would rob him of all his independence and his carefree lifestyle. A single child’s illness could easily outweigh all the worries of an entire community. Social service was an extremely suitable excuse for such shortcomings.
While on his routine walk one day, he met Professor Agnihotri, who was now the secretary of the municipal board. He had been feeling inclined to become a franchisee of intoxicating substances, but feared disrepute. He was on good terms with the excise officer and was quite sure of getting the contract easily. Despite all this, the fear of tarnishing his reputation and becoming an object of censure always got the better of him. He spoke, ‘How do you do, Lala Sahib? Has your marriage been fixed? When is it expected to take place?’
Gopinath replied, ‘Although my father is insisting upon it, I have no intentions of getting married.’
‘Don’t entertain this delusion. You are still young, and have no idea of the lurking presence of the desires of the senses. I know of many cases where celibacy has proved destructive rather than of any use. Marriage is the best system that human beings have discovered of keeping themselves restrained. Of what use is such bachelorhood that gives rise to duplicity?’