The Complete Short Stories

by Premchand

  ‘Does one get one’s bread and butter out of it?’

  ‘The licence of your gun too will be taken away.’

  ‘Let it be taken; I don’t care!’

  ‘There will be an income tax investigation too.’

  ‘Of course, go ahead and do it. This is what I too had in mind.’

  ‘You will not even get a chair to sit on.’

  ‘What good is a chair? I am going to be bankrupt anyway.’

  ‘Fine, you can go now. Sooner or later we’ll catch up with you.’

  4

  The next day, at the same time, in the Congress office, the following day’s activities were being planned. The pradhan said, ‘Send two volunteers to sit outside Seth Chandumal’s shop.’

  The secretary replied, ‘In my view now there is no need to keep vigil in front of his shop.’

  ‘Why? He has still not signed the contract.’

  ‘Yes, he has not signed, but he has become our friend. Not to become a witness on behalf of the police testifies that. How much pressure the administration must have put on him can be easily gauged. He wouldn’t have been able to withstand it if he didn’t have moral conviction.’

  ‘Yes, some changes have, of course, happened.’

  ‘Not some, sir! One should say that it is a total revolution. Do you know the implications of refusing to succumb to administrative pressures? It is as good as declaring one’s resistance against the state. This is equal to renouncing the world and taking sanyas in the path of sacrifice. The entire administration is now thirsting for his blood. It would not be surprising if the governor too has been apprised of the developments.’

  ‘But for the sake of formality at least he should sign the contract. Call him here. Let us talk to him.’

  ‘He is a man with self-esteem. He would never come here. Rather, if he senses our mistrust of him, he’s likely to try and join forces with them again.’

  ‘If you have so much faith in him then let us leave his shop alone. But I would still say that you must keep an eye on him by meeting him personally.’

  ‘You are unnecessarily suspicious.’

  At nine, when Chandumal reached his shop, there were no volunteers there. A smile flashed across his face. He told his bookkeeper, ‘It is a checkmate.’

  The bookkeeper averred, ‘It seems so. Not a single one seems to be here yet.’

  ‘They will come neither now nor later. The ball is in our court. The strategy I’ve used had won me complete victory! How long does it take to befriend them? Should I call them and ask them to do odd jobs? Slaves of a few pennies can neither be friends of anyone nor enemies. I’ve hoodwinked them well and good, haven’t I?’

  ‘I feel like kissing your hands. The snake is killed and the stick is still intact. But I’m sure the Congress fellows will keep a secret watch over us.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I am right here. They can’t beat me at this game. I will outsmart them. Take out the rolls of imported cloth and give them to the traders. We will sail through in one go.’

  Translated from the Hindi by Anuradha Ghosh

  Reincarnation

  1

  Material prosperity rarely comes to gentlemen. Ramtahal, who enjoyed a life of luxury, was dissipated and morally degraded. He was a cunning man, good at extracting interest out of loaned money and always on the winning side in legal transactions. His wealth kept increasing. Everyone was his prey. On the other hand, his younger brother, Shivtahal, was religious, devout, and helpful. His wealth kept decreasing. There were always at least two or three guests hovering at his doorstep. His elder brother had a lot of clout in the neighbourhood. Those who belonged to the lower castes followed his orders promptly. His house was repaired free of cost. Those indebted to him came with offerings of all kinds. For instance, some from the Kunjre caste would get saag-bhaji, while the Goalas would give him milk—that also one and a half times the quantity of what one would get at the market price. The younger brother had no such clout. Sadhus and mendicants would be his visitors; they would eat their fill in his house and go on their way. If he gave money to people, it was not with the intention of earning interest, but to help them out in their hour of need. He could not demand his own money from his debtors forcefully, lest he hurt their sentiments.

  In this manner quite a few years went by. Whatever inheritance Shivtahal possessed was squandered in his pursuit of salvation. Much of his money sank. Ramtahal, on the contrary, got a new house built. He also opened a shop for doing business in gold and silver. He bought some land too and started farming.

  Shivtahal was now worried. How could he live like this? He did not have money to generate an income. He did not possess the skills that help one earn a living without wealth. He didn’t even have the courage to borrow money from anyone. How would he repay them if he ran losses? He couldn’t even look for employment under anyone because then the family honour would be at stake. Finally, finding no other recourse, he went to his elder brother and said, ‘Brother, now you have to take the responsibility of looking after me and my family. Where else can I go seeking refuge?’

  Ramtahal said, ‘You don’t have anything to worry about. You have not squandered your money in evil deeds. Whatever you have done has only boosted the honour of our family. I am cunning; I know how to trick the world. You are a simple man. Others have cheated you. This is your house too. You can collect the revenues from the lands I have bought, and look after the farming there. Whatever you spend each month, come and take it from me. But I have one condition. I won’t spend a single penny on sadhus and mendicants. And I wouldn’t like you to speak ill of me.’

  Shivtahal, overcome with emotion, said, ‘Brother, I have surely sinned by always speaking ill of you; my apologies. If you ever hear me speak ill of you again, give me whatever punishment you deem fit. I have one request to make, though. Do ensure that your wife stops chastising me for whatever good or bad I have done so far.’

  Ramtahal said, ‘If ever again I hear her speak ill of you, I will pull out her tongue.’

  2

  Ramtahal’s lands were some twenty-five miles away from the town. A temporary house had been built there. The bullocks, the cart and all the farming implements were kept there. Shivtahal gave his house to his brother and went to live in the village with his children. He started working in earnest there. The farmhands were alerted. The fruits of labour were evident. In the first year itself, the farm produce doubled and expenses were reduced by half.

  But how does one change one’s nature? Though it was not like before, one or two characters would still come to visit Shivtahal after hearing of his success. Shivtahal was forced to look after them. Of course, he concealed these incidents from his brother, so that Ramtahal in his annoyance wouldn’t put an end to this source of livelihood. The result was that Shivtahal was compelled to sell vegetables, fodder, oil cakes and other such things on the sly. To make up for this, he extracted more work from the labourers and he exerted himself too. He ignored the heat and cold, and even the rains completely. But the problem was he had not worked this hard ever before. His health deteriorated. The food he ate was not wholesome either. Nor did he maintain any proper hours. Sometimes he would eat at midday, sometimes in the late afternoon. When thirsty, he would go straight to the pond. Weakness indicated the onset of disease. He soon fell ill. No medicine was available in the village. The food he was eating was not suitable for his condition. He began to fall sick; the fever now caught his spleen and in six months’ time he passed away.

  Ramtahal was depressed by the news. In the past three years, he had not bought even a paisa’s worth of grains. Jaggery, butter, fodder for animals, fuel in the form of cow-dung cakes . . . everything came from the village. Overcome by remorse, he regretted being so negligent about his brother’s treatment, drowned as he was in his own selfish pursuits. But how was he to know that the fever could take such a fatal turn? Had he realized the seriousness of the situation, he would have definitely taken care of Shivtahal’s
medical treatment. If this was God’s will, how could he have changed anything?

  3

  Now there was no one to look after the lands. Ramtahal had tasted the pleasure of farming. His wayward lifestyle had affected his health too. He now wanted to live in the salubrious climate of the village. He decided to move to the village and work on the land. He delegated his business in the city to his son, who had grown up by now.

  In the village he devoted all his time and energy to looking after the cows. He had one large cow that hailed from the banks of the Yamuna. He had bought her some years ago with great enthusiasm. She yielded a lot of milk and was so simple that even when children grabbed her horns, she did not protest. At that time she was pregnant. Ramtahal loved her dearly. He would look after her day and night, sometimes stroking her back, sometimes feeding her fodder—all with his own hands. Many offered more than double her price but Ramtahal did not sell her. When the cow gave birth, Ramtahal celebrated the occasion with a lot of fanfare; many Brahmins were fed on the day. The festivities continued for several days. The calf was named Jawahir. An astrologer was called to draw his birth chart. According to him the calf was very intelligent, auspicious and devoted to him. Only in the sixth year there was a chance of some misfortune. If he somehow managed to sail through that then he would lead a happy life till the very end.

  The calf was milk white. A red tilak was painted on his forehead. His eyes were dark. His features were beautiful and his limbs well shaped. He kept mooing the entire day. Ramtahal was delighted by his pranks. The calf became so fond of him that he would follow him around like a dog. Jawahir would stand beside him while he was attending to his clients in the mornings and evenings and keep licking him all over. When Ramtahal’s hands stroked his back with affection, his tail would go erect and his eyes would dance with joy. Ramtahal, too, was so fond of him that unless he sat on his charpoy to play with the calf, he found no taste in his food. He would often hug him and pet him. He got a silver necklace specially made for him, decked him with silk flowers and even got him silver anklets. He appointed a man to give the calf a bath every day and also dust him regularly. If Ramtahal was seen seated on a horse so he could visit neighbouring villages, Jawahir would start lowing and rush towards him to lick his feet. This father-and-son relationship between a man and an animal was so unique that everybody was surprised by it.

  4

  Jawahir was now two and a half years old. Ramtahal thought of putting him to work. He had grown from a calf to a bull. He had a round hump, a well-shaped body, powerful muscles, a broad chest and a joyful stride. There was no bull as wonderful as him in the neighbourhood. It was difficult to get another like him. When Jawahir was yoked with another bull, it was obvious that the pair did not match. People said that though the owner had spent a lot of money he could not find one even remotely equal to Jawahir! They were as different as the light of an electric lamp and that of an oil lamp.

  It was curious that Jawahir would not lift his foot when the cart driver hollered. He simply shook his neck. But when Ramtahal took the reins and coaxed him affectionately, ‘Come on, son,’ Jawahir would fly off with the cart. He would cover several miles in one breath without stopping anywhere. Even horses were unable to match him.

  One evening, when Ramtahal was chasing away flies as Jawahir fed on oil cakes and husk, a wandering mendicant arrived and stood at the doorstep. Ramtahal welcomed him with utmost humility. ‘Why stand there? Do come in.’

  The mendicant said, ‘I’m just watching this bull. I have never seen such a handsome one.’

  ‘He is from this house.’

  ‘He is a living God.’ He then started kissing Jawahir’s hooves.

  Ramtahal asked, ‘Where do you hail from? Do take some rest here. I will be obliged.’

  ‘No, my dear man, pardon me. I have to catch a train for some important work. I will be delayed if I wait the night.’

  ‘Will I meet you again?’

  ‘Yes, definitely, after three years of pilgrimage, I will be back this way. I will spend the night here then. You are a blessed soul—you have the opportunity to serve a Nandi like this. Don’t consider him an animal. He is some great soul born in this form. Do not ever hurt him. Do not ever hit him, even by mistake.’

  The mendicant then touched Jawahir’s hoof again and went on his way.

  5

  From that day on, Jawahir got even better treatment. From an animal he graduated to a God. Ramtahal first fed him from the kitchen and then had his own meal. First thing in the morning he visited him as one does a sacred shrine. He went so far as to desist from even yoking him to the cart. But when Ramtahal had to go somewhere and was forced to take out the cart, Jawahir became eager to be yoked to it; in excitement he would keep nodding his head, making it difficult for Ramtahal to do anything else. A few times, when he took the other pair to draw the cart, it upset Jawahir so much that he refused to eat anything the whole day. That is why Ramtahal refrained from going anywhere unless it was an emergency.

  Seeing Ramtahal’s faith, the other villagers too started feeding grains to Jawahir. Many would visit him in the morning to make their offerings.

  Three years went by in this manner. Now Jawahir was in his sixth year.

  Ramtahal remembered what the astrologer had said. He was afraid that the prediction would come true. He got many books on veterinary science and started reading them. He met a vet and procured some medicines too. He got Jawahir vaccinated. Fearing that the servants might give him the wrong fodder, or water that was not clean, he took on the entire responsibility of looking after Jawahir. The shed was cemented so that harmful germs or insects were kept away. Every day he would wash the place thoroughly.

  It was evening. Ramtahal was standing beside Jawahir, feeding him from a tumbler. Suddenly the mendicant who had visited him three years ago arrived. Ramtahal recognized him immediately. After greeting the mendicant, he inquired about his well-being and then went in to arrange a meal. All of a sudden Jawahir belched loudly and fell to the ground. Ramtahal was at his side in a moment. Jawahir’s eyes glazed over. He looked at Ramtahal with love and then became still.

  Scared, Ramtahal went to get the medicines. He could not understand what had happened. When he reached with the medicines, he found that Jawahir was already dead.

  Ramtahal hadn’t felt so much sorrow even when his younger brother had died. He would keep running to the bull’s side and hold him close, crying his heart out, even though people tried to stop him.

  Ramtahal cried through the whole night. Jawahir’s memory kept surfacing in his mind. Sorrow weighed heavily on him, gripping him at intervals.

  Early the next morning Jawahir’s body had to be disposed of but Ramtahal did not allow the tanners to come and take him away as per the custom in the village. He cremated the bull in accordance with the scriptures, lighting the pyre himself. He religiously performed all the rituals associated with death. He served meals to the Brahmins of the village on the thirteenth day. The mendicant who had come to him was still by his side—Ramtahal wouldn’t let him go. The mendicant’s words helped him calm down a little.

  6

  One day he asked the mendicant, ‘Mahatmaji, I still don’t understand—what ailed Jawahir? The astrologer had predicted that his sixth year would not go well. But I have not seen any animal die like this. You are a yogi; can you solve this riddle?’

  The mendicant said, ‘I can make some sense of it.’

  ‘Do tell me. My mind is not at peace.’

  ‘In his past life, he must have been an honest, helpful and deeply religious man. He had spent all his money on good deeds in the name of religion. Was there any relative of yours who had been like this?’

  ‘Yes, sir, there was one.’

  ‘He must have cheated you, betrayed your trust. You must have entrusted him with some work, and he used your money to serve followers of religion like sadhus and mendicants on the sly.’

  ‘He was such a simple-minded, honest fel
low. The thought of cheating anyone wouldn’t even have crossed his mind.’

  ‘But he did betray your trust. Not out of self-interest but to serve others. It is still cheating.’

  ‘Circumstances probably swayed him from the path of duty.’

  ‘Yes, it is so. It must have been ascertained that he deserved a place in heaven, but he had to atone for betraying somebody’s trust. Whatever money he had cheated you out of had to be paid back, so he was born here as an animal in this birth. It was certain that in six years’ time he would be able to atone for the sin he’d committed. He stayed with you to fulfil that time period. Once the period was over, his soul left his body to embark on the eternal journey.’

  The mendicant left the next day. A great change came over Ramtahal. His attitude to life changed completely. His heart was filled with kindness and sensitivity. He started thinking that if such a devout man like his brother had to undergo punishment for one mistake, then what must lie awaiting him for all his misdeeds! He could never drive this thought away from his mind.

  Translated from the Hindi by Anuradha Ghosh

  Test

  1

  Nadir Shah’s army was wreaking havoc in Delhi. Rivers of blood were flowing in the lanes. Sounds of lamentation could be heard all around. The people of Delhi stayed indoors for fear of their lives. No one was safe. Houses were being plundered, markets were being looted and there was no one to listen to anyone’s complaint. Women of aristocratic families were being taken out of their palaces and dishonoured. These Irani soldiers’ thirst for blood still did not seem to get quenched. The cruelty and bestiality of human beings had reached new heights.

  In those days, Delhi was the centre of licentiousness. The houses of aristocrats were filled with objects of luxury and cosmetics. Women had no other work besides beautifying themselves. The men folk did nothing but slip into debauchery. Poetic assemblies had taken the place of politics. Wealth was brought to Delhi from provincial areas and flowed like water. The prostitutes had a good life. If koel fights were going on at one corner, partridges and nightingales were made to fight in another. The entire city was lost in a sensuous, pleasurable haze.