The Complete Short Stories

by Premchand

  In the evening, when the parents sat down to discuss the issue, Gyanprakash declared, ‘Tomorrow I’ll go to visit my brother.’

  Devapriya asked, ‘In Calcutta?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why not call him instead?’

  ‘With what face can I call him? You people have already blackened my face. Such a good man is wandering in an alien city because of you, and am I so shameless as to—’

  ‘Shut up now! If you don’t want to marry, then don’t but don’t rub salt into our wounds. It is the parents’ duty that makes me say this, otherwise nobody cares a jot for it! I don’t care if you get married or stay a bachelor, just get away from my sight!’

  ‘Now do you hate even the sight of me?’

  ‘If you don’t want to listen to us, then go wherever you wish. We’ll convince ourselves that God didn’t give us a son.’

  ‘Must you uselessly say such bitter words?’

  ‘If this is what you wish, so be it.’

  Devaprakash saw that the situation had gone completely out of control. So he dismissed Gyanprakash with a gesture and started trying to placate his wife. But Devapriya was crying inconsolably and repeating, ‘I shall not see his face!’ Finally, irritated, Devaprakash said, ‘You are the one who incited him with your bitter words.’

  Devapriya replied, ‘It is that scoundrel who has planted all this venom; it is he who sits afar and is trying to decimate me. He has set up this pretence of love only to snatch away my son from me. I know him very well. This spell of his will not be over before I am dead. Otherwise, my Gyanu who has never talked back to me would not have caused me such heartache.’

  ‘Arré, this does not mean that he will not marry at all! He said all this nonsense only out of anger. Once he calms down, I will pacify him and convince him.’

  ‘He is out of my control now.’

  Devapriya’s apprehension turned out to be justified. Devaprakash tried very hard to reason with his son. He told him, ‘Your mother will die of this suffering.’ But it went unheeded. Once Gyanprakash said ‘no’, it would not change to ‘yes’. Seeing no resolution, his father also gave up.

  For three years, this issue was raised every year during the wedding season, but Gyanprakash remained unwavering in his vow. The mother’s cries and pleas yielded no results, though he did agree to one of her demands. He did not go to Calcutta to visit his brother.

  Within three years, their home underwent a major transformation. All three of Devapriya’s daughters were married. Now there was no woman at home besides her. She felt as if the empty house would devour her. When she became crazy out of despondency and rage, she would curse Satyaprakash to her heart’s content. But the brothers continued their exchange of love-filled letters.

  A strange sense of misery manifested in Devaprakash’s nature as well. He had retired and was now studying the scriptures. Gyanprakash had also earned the title of a ‘teacher’ and presently taught in a school. Devapriya was now alone in this world.

  To draw her son towards the life of a householder, Devapriya regularly employed charms and totems. She would sing the praises of beautiful, talented and well-educated girls of the community but Gyanprakash had no time to listen to her.

  There were frequent weddings in other houses in the locality. Brides would arrive and would soon become mothers, turning homes into pleasure gardens. While one house bid farewell to its daughter, another celebrated the arrival of a daughter-in-law. Some homes had musical gatherings and others echoed with the sounds of musical instruments. All the hustle-bustle made Devapriya’s heart long for it. She told herself, ‘I am the most unfortunate woman in the world. It is my fate alone to not have this joy. God! There will be a day when I will see the moon-like face of my daughter-in-law, and her sons will frolic in my lap. There will be such a day when my house too will resonate with sweet songs of joyous celebrations!’ Harbouring such thoughts day and night turned Devapriya delirious, like she was intoxicated. Without occasion, she would curse Satyaprakash, saying, ‘He is the one threatening my life!’

  Some sort of psychological obsession is the chief characteristic of intoxication. It is highly creative too. It can assume to fly gods’ chariots and can blame imaginary enemies for excess salt in food. On occasion Devapriya hallucinated that Satyaprakash had entered the house and wanted to kill her, or that he was administering poison to Gyanprakash. One day she wrote a letter to Satyaprakash cursing him as much as she could. ‘You are an enemy of my life, a killer of my clan, a murderer. When will the day of your cremation come! You have cast a spell on my son.’ The next day she wrote a similar letter. This became a daily affair. She could not rest until she had abused Satyaprakash in a letter. She had these letters posted by the water-carrier.

  10

  That Gyanprakash became a teacher turned out to be life-threatening for Satyaprakash. In an alien land, he had had the lone consolation that he was not without any support in this world. Now even this crutch was lost. Gyanprakash had written in a letter that Satyaprakash should not put himself through hardships for his sake. He had stressed, ‘Now I earn more than enough to sustain myself.’

  Although Satyaprakash’s shop did brisk business, the life of a petty shopkeeper was not too felicitous in a big city like Calcutta. How great was a monthly income of sixty or seventy rupees? Up till now, whatever he had saved was not actually saving, but a sacrifice. He had managed to save twenty-five to thirty rupees a month by eating one frugal meal a day and living in a damp cramped room. Now he ate two meals and also wore clean clothes. But within a few days medicines were added to his list of expenses and his condition reverted to what it was earlier. Being deprived of fresh air, light, and nutritious food for years can wreck even the best of health. Likewise, Satyaprakash was afflicted with ennui, lack of appetite, and occasionally a fever too. In his years of youth, a man has great self-confidence and does not care for support. On the other hand, old age looks to others for care and refuge. Earlier he would sleep well and at times even buy delicacies like puris or sweetmeats from the market. But now he could not sleep well at night and had started despising food from outside. He was extremely tired by the time he returned home at night, and lighting the stove and cooking in that condition was extremely cumbersome. Sometimes, he wept because of his loneliness. At night when sleep eluded him, he longed to talk to somebody. But who was there to keep him company except for the nocturnal darkness? Inanimate walls make for good listeners but they cannot speak. Now even Gyanprakash’s letters had become infrequent and dry, without even an iota of heartfelt emotion. Although Satyaprakash still wrote letters full of feeling, it does not behove a teacher to be emotional. Gradually, Satyaprakash began fearing that Gyanprakash had also become hard on him; why else would it be impossible for him to visit just for a few days? ‘The gates of home are shut for me but what hurdles does he have?’ How could Satyaprakash be aware that Gyanprakash had vowed to his mother that he would not visit Calcutta? The doubt made him even more hopeless.

  Cities have many humans, but rarely any humanity. Even in that crowded city, Satyaprakash was alone. A new desire germinated in his heart. ‘Should I return home? Should I take refuge in a woman’s company? Where can I seek such peace and pleasure? Which other flame can illuminate the darkness of hopelessness of my life?’ He tried to fight this flood of emotions with the utmost power of will but, just as a boy at play is drawn by sweetmeats at home, his heart also repeatedly got caught in these anxieties. He would reflect, ‘The Almighty has deprived me of all joy. Why else would I be in such a pitiable condition? Did God not give me a mind? Did I shrink from labour? If my enthusiasm and zeal were not blighted in childhood and the power of my mind had not been strangulated, I too would have been humane. I would not have to live in an alien land to fill my belly. No! I will not inflict this atrocity on myself.’

  This war between Satyaprakash’s mind and heart continued for months. One day, just as he was lighting the stove after returning home from his shop, the po
stman called. He did not receive letters from anybody else other than Gyanprakash. ‘But I’ve already received one letter from him today. Why this second letter?’ He had a premonition of some mishap. He received the letter and started reading it. He dropped the letter in a moment and sat down with his head in his hands, fearing he might collapse. It was a drink of venom emanating from the poisonous pen of Devapriya. In just a moment, it left Satyaprakash at a loss for words. All his heartfelt pain—anger, hopelessness, ingratitude, guilt—came to an end in a cold sigh.

  He lay down on the bed. His scorching pain turned into tears. ‘Ha! My life is ruined! I’m Gyanprakash’s enemy. For days, I have put up the pretence of love just to decimate his life. God! You alone are a witness to this!’

  The next day another letter from Devapriya arrived. Satyaprakash tore it up. He did not have the courage to read the letter. One day later the third letter came and it met the same fate. Then it became a daily routine. A letter came and was torn, but Devapriya’s motive was achieved even without the letter being read. With every letter, Satyaprakash’s heart suffered another blow.

  A month of severe heartfelt misery made Satyaprakash detest his life. He shut down his shop and stopped going anywhere. He spent all day in bed. He remembered the days when his mother would put him in her lap and call him ‘Son!’ His father also, after returning from office, would pick him up and call him ‘Child!’ His mother’s image would flash before his eyes, exactly like when she had gone for the dip in the Ganga. Her affectionate words would pour into his ears. Then he recalled the scene where he had addressed the new bride as ‘Mother’. He also recalled her cruel words, and her large, angry, frightening eyes would flash before his own. He would then recall his own sobs, followed by that scene in the maternity room when he had wanted to pick up the infant lovingly, only to be stopped by his stepmother’s lightning-sharp words, which still echoed in his ears! ‘Alas! That lightning annihilated me!’ He remembered the number of times she would scold him unreasonably and his father’s cruel and harsh treatment. His frequent rebukes and his belief in his wife’s false accusations. ‘Alas! My whole life has been destroyed!’ Then he would shift in his bed and the same scenes would once again flash before his eyes. ‘Why does this life not end?’

  Several days passed in this manner. One day as dusk fell, he heard someone from outside his door. He strained his ears to listen and was startled. The voice belonged to someone familiar. He ran to the door and found Gyanprakash standing there. What a handsome man! Satyaprakash hugged him tightly. Gyanprakash touched his feet. The brothers then stepped into the house. Entering the dark room, Gyanprakash, who had so far controlled his flooding emotions, burst into tears upon seeing the squalor of the house. Satyaprakash lit the lamp. It was not a home but a den haunted by ghosts. Satyaprakash hurriedly put on a kurta. Gyanprakash saw his brother’s weakened body, jaundiced face and dim eyes, and continued to cry.

  Satyaprakash said, ‘I keep ill these days.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘You did not send news about your visit. How did you find the address?’

  ‘I had posted a letter. Maybe you didn’t receive it.’

  ‘Yes, you might have. The postman might have dropped it at the shop. I have not gone there for many days. Is all well at home?’

  ‘Mother died.’

  ‘What! Was she ill?’

  ‘No. We don’t know what she consumed. She had become somewhat hysterical. Father said some harsh words because of which she consumed something.’

  ‘Is father all right?’

  ‘Yes, not dead yet.’

  ‘What! Is he very ill?’

  ‘When mother consumed poison, he tried to give her some medicine by opening her mouth, but she bit two of his fingers really hard. So the poison entered his body as well. Since then his whole body has been swollen. He is lying in the hospital and tries to bite anyone he sees.’

  ‘That means our home has been completely ruined.’

  ‘A home like this should have been ruined long ago.’

  On the morning of the third day, both brothers left Calcutta for ever.

  Translated from the Hindi by Vikas Jain

  Purification

  1

  At last, the inevitable did come to pass. Having lost everything that he possessed, Lala Premnath realized that fidelity was a rare commodity in the market of love. Not much time had passed since he had been known as a dry abstinent among his friends. But one day he was persuaded by his friends to attend a musical gathering in a public house, and he lost his heart to the celibate-trapping deceptions of Husna Bi. For those inclined to pleasure, beauty and charm are the means of pleasing the heart. For the abstinent, these are tidings of martyrdom. In the five years that followed, Premnath surrendered all—wealth, respect, religion, conscience—to Husna Bi. Even lifelong idolatry for Husna would not have led to whispers, if only he had done it discreetly. But when has society tolerated the loud decadence of broad-minded men? People stopped visiting him. Relatives turned to strangers and avoided him. Tearfully, his mother tried to reason with him. His wife pleaded with him, and gave up eating. But Premnath had no place in his heart for anybody other than Husna—so much so that the helpless mother left for a long pilgrimage, and his wife, Gomati, returned to her maternal home. This made Premnath more wayward. He now kept the company of musicians and singers. It was as if the restrictions of religion, which had already been discarded, had now acquired wings and flew away. Now he shared food and drink with everyone. What is pleasure without company? With his rejection of caste, he also lost his Hinduness. And if he is not Hindu, it matters little whether he is considered a Muslim, a Christian or anything else.

  And one day out of excitement, he even recited the kalma at Jama Masjid! He had no particular allegiance to Islam. His sentiments were Hindu, his thoughts remained Hindu, and even his relationships were Hindu. His sympathies were Hindu, but his conduct was not. And so he was a Muslim now. His social interactions, and food and drink were all to do with Muslims—was that not enough to prove him a Muslim? But how did it profit him when he was neither here nor there? He recited the kalma, and Premnath became Ulfat Hussain.

  But which mortal has ventured this way and not craved sustenance within days? In the marketplace of this world, money is a commodity. What does a pleasure garden have if not lust and meaningless fun? The moths scatter as soon as the lamp goes out. Why would a canary sing on a fruitless tree? Once again, what has been happening since the days of Adam happened again. Husna found new lovers, and a helpless, loveless and dejected Mian Ulfat Hussain found refuge in an old mosque. He had exchanged all his wealth for worthless goods such as infamy, guilt, scandal and poverty. Disease came complimentary.

  2

  Now Premnath saw sense. For three weeks, he had been moaning in a corner of the mosque. But there was nobody to ask after his welfare. Old friends had turned dispirited and given up on him as insane. Among his new friends, there were more who mocked him than those who showed concern. In this laughable situation, Premnath remembered his loving mother and doting wife. Ah! What a pleasant life it had been! What carefree days! How much that Goddess of good fortune had reasoned with me, but full of lust, I had lost my bearing! If only I could see her again, I would spend my whole life at her feet. Where is my good fortune now? Who will ask after me? Now Gomati despises even the sight of my face.

  A maulvi sahib lived in the mosque. His name was Tahir Ali. He was a selfless man. Taking pity on Premnath’s condition, he would invite him for meals. One day he said, ‘Why don’t you go home? How long will you stay here? After all, your house hasn’t collapsed! I can see that your condition is worsening day by day.’

  Premnath sighed. ‘Why do you rub salt into my wounds, Maulvi Sahib? Where is my home and hearth now? It’s been long since the house was sold. Now only the grave can provide me with rest.’

  Maulvi Sahib said, ‘Even so, do call your family once. At least see how they respond. I don’t ask y
ou to call your wife, but the child’s condition will certainly make a mother embrace him and forgive all his sins.’

  Premnath responded dejectedly, ‘I know this, Maulvi Sahib. If my mother hears of it, she’ll come here running wherever she might be. I believe my wife will do the same as well. She is the Goddess of loyalty, Maulvi Sahib! I’ve never seen such grace and bashfulness anywhere. I’m sure she’ll certainly come. But how can I face her? How do I go to her? I can’t show them my tainted soul. I would much rather die, alone and suffering. I can’t reawaken their pain. Ah! I’m one who ruins the family, Maulvi Sahib! I sullied the name of my forefathers. I had so much wealth that we could have lived comfortably for several generations, but now I’m a pauper. So poor that I am even bereft of courage to lean on. Now my only prayer to God is to end my suffering as soon as possible.’

  Maulvi Sahib retorted harshly, ‘Why do you say Eishwar, the Hindu God? You must say Allah!’

  Premnath answered reproachfully, ‘Eishwar and Allah may be different entities for you, sir. They are one for me. The world is not a farm planted separately by Eishwar, Allah, Brahma, Lord or Jehovah.’

  Shamefaced, Maulvi Sahib said, ‘That’s true, brother. When we hear a name different from that of the one God that we have always heard, the ears find them strange. Anyhow, if you agree, I can write a letter to your in-laws.’

  Premnath gestured in the negative. ‘Not at all! Let me die here. This is the punishment for my sins. Somebody or the other will arrange for the grave and the shroud. At that time, you may send them a letter saying that the unfortunate Premnath has passed away in great suffering, and is now enduring the torments of hell. There isn’t much time left for me to die, Tahir Ali! Two days at the most. My in-laws are in Lucknow, in the Naubasta mohalla. My father-in-law’s name is Babu Nihalchand. But, brother, for God’s sake, do not write a letter before I die. I bind you to this in God’s name. Now only a funeral shroud can clothe this tainted soul!’