by Premchand
Vimal’s mother sensed something, and walked into Sheetala’s room to find out what was happening. When she saw Vimal she hugged him tightly, overcome by motherly affection. Vimal kept his head on his mother’s feet. Warm tears were oozing out of his eyes. His mother was so delighted to see her son after such a long time that she could not speak a word.
Vimal said, ‘Mother!’ His tone betrayed his question.
His mother understood his misgivings and said, ‘No, son, this isn’t what you’re thinking.’
‘But what’s all this?’
‘What to do, her nature’s like this.’
‘Why was Suresh looking for me?’
‘He was trying to find you. If it wasn’t for his generosity, you wouldn’t have found us alive.’
‘That would’ve been better.’
Sheetala said sarcastically, ‘You had made sure that we were all dead. You did not leave us in comfort here.’
Vimal retorted, ‘But now I can see that you’re in great comfort.’
‘You aren’t the arbiter of everyone’s destiny.’
Vimal stood up shaking with anger. ‘Mother, take me away from here. I do not want to see this monster. I feel like killing her. The rigour with which I worked for three years for this loose woman would have fetched me God but her love is impossible!’
He left Sheetala’s room and lay down in his mother’s room. His mother quickly washed his face, hands and feet. She lit the stove and started frying pancakes for him. While cooking she told him about all her woes and what they went through in his absence. Now Vimal held no animosity against Suresh. But all that had transpired took a toll on his health and he fell ill. The long-distance travel, years of hard labour and now this stress finally culminated in a high fever. He could not bear it any more.
The night passed but he remained unconscious. His mother sat by his side fanning him and crying her heart out. The next day too passed without any improvement in his condition. Sheetala didn’t come to see him even for a minute. It’s all the same for me—whether he’s here or abroad. He has not spent a single penny on me. He left the house making such a song and dance. But what has he brought?
Suresh got the news in the evening and came running to meet Vimal. He was entering the house after two months. Vimal opened his eyes and recognized him. Tears started flowing from his eyes. Suresh was all love and affection for Vimal, who hated himself for doubting him.
The moment Sheetala heard about the arrival of Suresh, she stood before the mirror. She tousled her hair as though she was in great distress and entered Vimal’s room. Vimal was lying half-conscious but as soon as Sheetala came in he opened his eyes. He looked at her with bloodshot eyes and said, ‘Oh, you’ve come now? Come after three days. You can meet Kunwer Sahib again then.’
Sheetala went back to her room. Suresh was terribly embarrassed. He thought, She is blessed with beauty but she is so venomous! Instead of a sympathetic heart what she has is only lust for embellishments!
Vimal’s condition worsened. Suresh brought in the doctor but the messenger of death did not hear any plea. His heart is made of stone. Nothing can soften it. Even if someone pulls out his heart or cries his heart out, his heart does not melt. He takes pleasure in destroying happy homes and ruining well-grown harvests. His cruelty is sadistic in nature. And it takes a different form every time. Sometimes it comes as lightning and sometimes in the shape of a garland; sometimes it appears as a lion and sometimes as a jackal. Sometimes it takes the form of fire and sometimes it comes in the garb of water.
On the third night Vimal’s stress and heartache came to an end. A thief never steals during the day. The Angel of Death generally comes stealthily during the night and robs people of their lives. Even stars dimmed their light in sadness. The trees were silent, with bowed heads, as if paying tribute to the departed soul. The night is the veneer of mourning. The night is the playground of death. At that time only the sound of wailing emanated from Vimal’s house—the sound cherished by the lord of death.
Sheetala was startled by the noise and walked towards Vimal’s bed with trepidation. She looked at the body once and stepped back, horrified. She felt as if Vimal was staring back at her with hatred in his eyes. The flickering light of the lamp sent a shiver down her spine. She was so terrified that she could not stay there even for a second. She was coming out of the room when she met Suresh. ‘I’m scared of this place,’ she said in an agitated voice. She started crying and was going to fall at his feet when he stepped back.
7
When a traveller realizes that he has lost his way he tries his best to get back to the right path. He gets annoyed with himself for being careless. Suresh also wanted to make peace with Mangala. He started remembering all the things that Mangala did to keep him happy. He finally started appreciating Mangala’s inner beauty. She had been the epitome of love, sacrifice and forgiveness. He became restless whenever he remembered her unconditional love for him. I was so unjust to her! I didn’t appreciate her great worth! I just stood by silently and allowed my Goddess Laxmi to leave this house! He was aware of the last conversation that took place between Mangala and Sheetala. But he was not ready to believe it. Mangala was a woman of calm disposition. She couldn’t be so insolent. She would forgive and not want revenge. His heart said that she was alive and safe. He wrote many letters to her parents but received only taunts and sarcasm in answer. At last he wrote:
I’m coming to fetch the jewel of my life myself. I’ll either bring her back with me or else I’ll never show my face to anyone.
The answer to that letter was:
Fine, you can come. We’ll see what needs to be done.
Suresh found a ray of hope in those words. He left his house the same day, and did not take anybody along with him.
He did not receive a warm welcome in his father-in-law’s house. Nobody smiled at him. His father-in-law even gave him a long lecture on the duties of an ideal husband.
After dinner, when he was retiring for the night, his younger sister-in-law came to see him. Smilingly, she said, ‘Jijaji, if a beautiful woman insults her ugly husband and abandons him, what will you call her?’
‘Wicked!’ said Suresh seriously.
‘And a man who leaves his ugly wife?’
‘A brute!’
‘And if he is a learned man?’
‘A monster.’
‘Then I should move away quickly. I’m so scared of you.’
‘Even the apology of monsters is accepted.’
‘The condition is that it should be heartfelt and true.’
‘That can be judged only by the almighty.’
‘If it is true you’ll be rewarded. You’ll certainly return with Didi.’
Suresh was on tenterhooks. He implored, ‘Prabha, for God’s sake, have mercy on me. I’m in despair. Not a day has passed in the past year when I have not wept.’
Prabha stood up and said, ‘One has to pay for one’s actions. Please take rest. I’ve to go now.’
Next, Mangala’s mother came into his room. She said, ‘Son, you’re a learned man and you have been to many countries. Couldn’t you find any medicine that makes one beautiful?’
‘Mother, please do not embarrass me more,’ Suresh pleaded.
‘You’ve taken the life of my daughter. Can’t I talk about it? I wanted to give you a piece of my mind, something you’ll never forget all your life. But you’re our guest. I can’t do much. Go, take rest.’
Suresh suffered silently. One moment he was filled with hope but the next moment he was caught in the grip of hopelessness. He could not sleep and lay restlessly in his bed. Suddenly he heard somebody speaking in a soft voice at the door. ‘Why don’t you go inside? He isn’t sleeping.’ Somebody answered, ‘I’m feeling shy.’
Suresh recognized the voice. The thirsty had finally got the water. The next moment Mangala stood in front of him, her head bowed. Suresh saw a sublime glow on her face—it was as if she had recovered from a long illness. The
face was the same but the eyes were different.
Translated from the Hindi by M. Asaduddin
Revenge
1
Standing on the terrace of her three-storey house, Maya scanned the road below with impatient, excited eyes. These were the thoughts running through her mind: Why hasn’t he arrived yet? What is delaying him? He had written to say that he’d be arriving by this very train. The train must have reached the station; these people look like they are coming from the station. There is only this train which is scheduled for arrival at this time. Maybe he is taking time getting his luggage together; his friends must have reached the station to congratulate him; only once he gets free from all this will he remember to come back home. If I were in his place, I would have come straight home. I would have excused myself from my friends saying, ‘Friend, forgive me but I need to leave now. I’ll meet you soon.’ But he only cares for his friends.
Mr Vyas was young but was one of the most respected barristers in Lucknow. He had been based in Lahore for the past three months defending a political case for the government. He had written to Maya saying that he had won the case. ‘I’ll return on the 1st by the evening mail.’ Today was that evening. Maya had spent the whole day preparing for his arrival. She’d got the whole house cleaned. Dusted all the decorative pieces in each and every room and even got the car washed. She had spent the past three months in penance. But Mr Vyas had still not arrived.
Her young daughter, Tilottama, came and clung to her legs. ‘Amma, when will Babuji get home?’
Maya picked her up, kissed her and said, ‘He must be on his way, darling. The mail must have arrived already.’
Tilottama said happily, ‘He will get nice dolls for me!’
Maya kept quiet. The wait was now turning into anger. She was thinking, The way the mister is making me suffer, I’ll pay him back in his own coin. I will not talk to him for an hour. He would rather stay put at the station than come home. He likes to make me jealous. It is his old habit. But how do I console my heart? No, I too want to behave in the same callous manner towards him as he does with me.
Suddenly, a servant came upstairs and said, ‘Bahuji, there is a telegram from Lahore.’
Maya felt like she’d been singed. It was as though a storm had just passed through. She thought, What else would he write except to say that he will not be coming by this train. It is so easy to send a telegram. Why don’t I send a telegram too saying that I am going to my mother’s home for a month? She told the servant, ‘Leave the telegram on the table inside.’
But she changed her mind and had just opened it when it fell from her hand.
It said:
MISTER VYAS WAS MURDERED TONIGHT AT 10 P.M. BY A GOON.
2
Months passed. The killer had not been caught. The experienced members of the police secret service were looking for him day and night. A reward of twenty thousand rupees had been announced for anyone who could give a clue about the murderer. But to no avail.
Maya had been staying in the same hotel for about a month where Mr Vyas had stayed earlier. She had fallen in love with the room. She looked different these days, almost unrecognizable. But her face did not show the pale colour of pain or helplessness. Instead, it displayed the red flush of her anger. Her beautiful eyes dripped blood and burned with the fire of revenge. Her entire being was consumed by this fire. This now was the only motive of her life and her biggest desire. This burning desire for revenge was the prize of her love. She would rest only when she saw the man who destroyed her life begging for mercy. The police secret service was trying to find clues to the murderer by using fear and greed as strategies in their investigation. Maya had chosen a different path. Mr Vyas had been interested in the study of the supernatural. Maya had also learnt a little about it with him. It had been more of an entertainment at the time; but now this was the only preoccupation of her life. She would practise every day on Tilottama and increase the intensity day by day. She was waiting for the day when she would be able to summon the spirit of her dead husband and ask who his murderer was. She went through the ritual every day with concentration and involvement.
It was ten. Maya had switched off the lights in the room and was practising on Tilottama. Suddenly, she felt a luminescence in the room. She saw a flash of light like the last flicker of a flame.
Maya asked, ‘Who are you?’
Tilottama laughed and said, ‘Don’t you know me? I am the person who resides in your heart and who the rest of the world knows by the name of Mr Vyas.’
‘You have come finally. I want to know the name of the murderer.’
‘His name is Eshwardas.’
‘Where does he live?’
‘Shahjahanpur.’
Maya took down the address and the details of his appearance diligently. Tilottama came to her senses after a while. When the lights were back on in the room, Maya’s face was glowing with triumphant happiness. She was filled with the renewed energy of a lost traveller who has found water in the desert.
That same night she decided to leave Lahore and go to Shahjahanpur.
3
It was night. The Punjab Mail hurtled along the dark as if cutting its way through it. Sitting in a second-class coach, Maya was thinking about where she would stay in Shahjahanpur, how she would find Eshwardas’s house and how she would avenge the murder. Tilottama was sleeping next to her unaware of all this. On the upper berth, a man was sleeping soundly.
Suddenly, the door of the coach flung open and two men in pant suits entered. They sat down on either side of her, surrounding her. They were English. Maya squirmed. She did not like the way these men sat next to her. She wanted to tell them to move away. The same woman who was going to avenge her husband’s murder was herself scared at this moment. The two monsters, seeing her squirm, came even closer. Maya couldn’t stay seated any longer. She tried to move to another berth but one of the men caught her hand. Maya tried to pull her hand away and said, ‘Have you lost your mind? Let go of me, you pig!’
The man pulled her to himself and, holding her close, said in a drunken voice and broken Hindi, ‘Well, I’ll give you a lot of money.’
Maya tried to push him away with all her force and said, ‘Let go, you bastard or I’ll break your head.’
The second man now got up and together they tried to get her on the berth. Hearing all this commotion, the man sleeping on the upper berth woke up and taking stock of the situation jumped down. The two white men let go of Maya and, lunging at him, started raining blows on him. They were attacking him relentlessly while he tried to defend himself with his two hands. He could not find a way to fight back. Suddenly, he pulled out a knife from his bedroll and, pulling up his sleeves, said, ‘I’ll kill the two of you if you don’t leave immediately.’
The knife scared the two men but one of them was armed. He pulled out a revolver from his pocket and, pointing it towards the man, said, ‘Get lost, rascal.’
Maya was shaking with fear and dreading the imminent catastrophe. But the sense of approaching danger also unlocks the hidden treasure of our strengths. We cross the boundaries of fear when we are confronted with danger and even surprise ourselves with the things that we are capable of. Maya, who till now was shaking with fear, suddenly leapt forward like a tigress towards the white man, pulled the revolver out of his hands and threw it out of the coach. The man tried to bite her hand in anger but she quickly withdrew it and pulled the chain to stop the train. The other white man had been standing in a corner all this while. He did not have any weapon, so he steered clear of the knife. When he saw Maya pulling the chain, he yanked open the passage door inside the train and tried to run away. His friend was about to run when the man with the knife pushed him so hard that he fell on his face. The man with the knife rained so many blows, kicks and punches that he started bleeding from his mouth. The train stopped in the meantime and the guard arrived with a lantern.
4
But the two louts managed to jump out
of the train just as it stopped and vanished into the night. The guard did not pursue them and even if he had, it would have been almost impossible to find them in the dark. There were potholes on either side. Perhaps the train was near a river. Forget two, two hundred men could have hidden there at the time. After ten minutes the train started moving again.
Maya heaved a sigh of relief and said, ‘God knows what would have happened today if not for you. Are you hurt?’
Putting away the knife in his pocket, the man replied, ‘Not at all. I was sleeping so soundly that I did not realize when these two goons entered. I would not have let them enter. I’ll file a report at the next station.’
Maya said, ‘Please don’t. It will spoil my reputation and cause unnecessary trouble. There is no point in filing any report. My honour was saved today by God’s grace. My heart is still pounding . Where are you going?’
‘I am going to Shahjahanpur.’
‘I am going there too. What is your name? At least let me know the name of my saviour.’
‘My name is Eshwardas.’
Maya felt faint. Was it the same murderer? She now noticed that his face matched the description that she had been given. Her heart trembling, she asked, ‘Which locality do you live in?’
‘I live in . . .’
Maya was crushed. She put her head outside the window and took a deep breath. What was she to do now? She had found the murderer but now she was beholden to him. Could she kill a man who had helped her in a dire situation without knowing anything about her? He had not even cared for his life. She was caught in a dilemma. She glanced at him—he looked like a good man. Could such a man commit murder? She doubted it.