by Premchand
And your cheeks are shrunken.
His maternal grandmother is dead,
While the moustached-one has a broken leg.
Mannu was enjoying the fun and frolic. He ate half the fruits and threw the rest down, which the boys picked up promptly. They clapped their hands and sang:
Bandar Mamu, can you say,
Where do you stay?
When the gardener saw that the situation couldn’t be brought under control, he went and informed his master. This gentleman was an official in the police department. The moment he heard the news, he lost his temper. What audacity! How dare this monkey come to my orchard and raise such a racket. I pay the rent of the bungalow, not him. I have crushed many who have stepped in my way—even the newspaper people are scared of me! And I’m being challenged by a monkey! He picked up his gun and went to the orchard, where he saw Mannu shaking a tree vigorously. Furious, he aimed his gun at Mannu. The monkey lost his wits at the sight of the gun. No one had ever aimed a gun at him. However, he had heard the sound of the gun and seen birds killed following gunshots. Even if he hadn’t seen it before, it was natural for him to be scared at the sight of the gun. His animal instincts made him stay clear of his enemies. But it was as though Mannu’s feet were paralysed. He couldn’t even jump to another tree. He stayed on the same branch quietly. The owner of the orchard liked Mannu’s ways and he suddenly took pity on him. He sent the gardener to catch Mannu and bring him over to him. The gardener was scared, but he was familiar with his master’s anger. He climbed up the tree quietly, tied the monkey with a rope and brought him down.
Mannu was tied to a pole in the corridor of the bungalow. He lost his spirit. He stayed there till late evening, whining. At sundown, a servant came and threw a fistful of grams before him. Mannu became acutely aware of the change in his situation. There was no blanket, and no sackcloth. He was lying on the bare floor and whining. He didn’t even touch the grams. He was regretting his little adventure now, and kept thinking about the juggler. The poor fellow must be wandering around, searching for me. The juggler’s wife must be calling my name, holding pieces of bread and milk in her hand. Where have I landed? He kept waking through the night, and circled the pole. Tommy, the master’s dog, barked at him every now and then to frighten him. Mannu felt extreme anger towards him and wanted to hit him hard. But the dog didn’t come close. He only kept barking from a distance.
When the night turned into dawn, the master came and gave Mannu a few tight slaps. ‘Swine! Spoiled my sleep at night by yelping constantly. I couldn’t close my eyes even for a second. If you create a racket today, I’ll shoot you.’ Saying this, he left. Now it was the turn of the naughty boys. Some of them were from the mohalla, some of them were from outside. Some made faces at Mannu, some threw stones at him, while others beckoned him with sweets. No one came to his rescue, no one felt any pity for him. He tried every possible method to save himself, but he couldn’t escape. He saluted the boys, showed them his posture of pray and worship, and the only reward he got from the boys was more teasing. That day no one even threw grams at him. Even if they did, he was not in a position to eat. Sorrow had dulled his urge for eating.
The juggler reached the sahib’s house in the evening, after much inquiry. When Mannu saw him, he leapt with such impatience it almost seemed as if he would break the shackles and bring down the pillar. The juggler hugged Mannu and said to the sahib, ‘Huzoor, he is a mere animal. Even men make mistakes. Give me whatever punishment that you want, but please spare him. Master, he is the only source of my livelihood. My wife and I will starve to death without him. We have reared him like our own child. My wife hasn’t had any food since he ran away. Please have some mercy, Master. May you be prosperous forever, may you achieve a higher status, may your pens become mightier and may your cases be liquidated. You are the good son of your father, may you always remain strong. May your rivals be ruined.’ But the sahib remained unmoved. He berated the juggler. ‘Shut up, you rogue, you have annoyed me with your endless talking. First you let your monkey ruin my orchard, and then you come here to placate me with your glib tongue! Just go and see how many fruits he has spoiled. If you want to take him with you, then compensate my losses with ten rupees, otherwise be on your way without a word. He will die here with his limbs tied until someone pays the penalty and takes him away.’
The juggler left in despair. Where on earth could he manage to get the ten rupees from? He told Budhiya about the situation. Budhiya was more convinced about her ability to elicit sympathy. She said, ‘I know you! You must have given him a tongue-lashing. You must use your words carefully while talking to these masters. Only then will they be pleased. Come with me, watch me bring him back.’ She tied all of Mannu’s belongings in a bundle and went to the sahib along with her husband. This time Mannu jumped so forcefully that the pillar actually shook. Budhiya said, ‘Master, we’ve come to beg at your door. Please give this monkey to us as charity.’
The sahib replied, ‘I consider charity to be a sin.’
The juggler’s wife said, ‘We roam around villages and towns. We will sing your praises.’
‘I don’t care for anyone singing my praises.’
‘God will reward you for this.’
‘I know nothing about God.’
‘My lord, forgiveness is a great virtue.’
‘To me, punishment has great virtue.’
‘My lord, you’re our master. You have to do justice to us. Please don’t take the lives of two individuals for a few fruits. It is justice which makes a man great.’
‘My greatness doesn’t lie in forgiveness and justice. It is not my duty to ensure justice. My work is to enjoy myself.’
None of Budhiya’s arguments had any effect on this vain person. Disheartened, she said, ‘Sir, show some kindness and let us keep these things near the monkey. He is attached to them.’
‘I’ve no place here to keep your dirty rags.’
The juggler and his wife left in utter despair.
3
When Tommy saw that Mannu was a harmless creature he grew bolder. He moved closer to Mannu, growling. Mannu leapt at him, catching his ears, and gave him such tight slaps that the dog was dumbfounded. Hearing his screams, the master came out of his room and gave Mannu several kicks. He ordered his servants not to give any food to the rogue monkey for three days.
It was a coincidence that the manager of a circus company visited the master that day to seek his permission to hold shows. When he saw Mannu sitting tearfully, tied to a pole, he came close and smiled at him. Mannu jumped up, fell at his feet and began to salute him. The manager understood that he was domesticated. He needed a monkey for his circus. He talked to the master, gave him a fair price and took Mannu with him. However, Mannu soon realized that he had now landed up in a worse place. The manager gave him to a servant who was in charge of the monkeys. The servant was a very cruel and crude person. There were several monkeys in his care. Each one of them was in terrible pain. The keeper would eat up all the food meant for the monkeys. The other monkeys didn’t welcome Mannu into their midst. His coming created a commotion among them. If the keeper hadn’t separated them, they would’ve made mincemeat of him. Mannu had to learn new acts now—riding a bicycle, climbing on to a running horse and standing on it with his two hind legs, walking on a fine rope and other such scary activities. He was often subjected to beating so he could learn these things properly. If he made the slightest mistake, he was caned on the back. Even more painful was the fact that he was confined to a cell throughout the day so that no one could see him. Mannu had performed acrobatics even when he lived with the juggler, but there was great difference between the two lives. The juggler had loved him, talked to him endearingly. But in this place, he was a prisoner, subjected to beatings and cruelty. He was taking time to learn the new skills because he was still constantly thinking about running away to Jeevan Das. Every day, he waited for an opportunity to run away but the animals were kept under strict surveil
lance in the circus. They didn’t even get fresh air, let alone the smallest opportunity to run away. Everyone was busy making him work; no one cared for his meals. Mannu had escaped the master’s bungalow quickly enough but he had now spent three months in this prison. His health worsened, and he was completely miserable. He had to work, whether he wanted or not. The owner of the circus only wanted to earn money; he didn’t care if Mannu lived or died.
One day, the circus tent caught fire. All the workers in the circus were gamblers. They would gamble, drink liquor and fight amongst themselves throughout the day. Amidst this mess, the gas pipes exploded suddenly. A commotion ensued. The spectators ran for their lives. The employees of the company started clamouring for their belongings. No one bothered about the animals. There were two lions, many cheetahs, one elephant and a bear. The number of dogs, horses and monkeys was much more. The company had never even cared for the lives of its employees in its quest for earning money. The animals were taken off their tethers only for their performances. When the fire broke out, they all ran away. Mannu, too, made his escape. He didn’t even look back to see whether the tent had burnt completely or if it was still safe.
Mannu went straight to Jeevan Das’s house. But the door was closed. He climbed up on the roofing tiles and made his way inside the house. But, there was no one inside. The place where he slept, which was usually plastered clean with cow dung by Budhiya, was now covered with grass. The wood on which he would climb up and jump around had been consumed by termites. The people of the mohalla recognized him immediately. A noise broke out—‘Mannu has come, Mannu has come.’
Mannu would go to the house every day in the evening and lie down on his old spot. He would roam around the mohalla throughout the day and only ate if someone gave him anything. He never touched anyone’s belongings. He still hoped to meet his old master somewhere in the area. The pitiable sound of his whining could be heard in the nights. Everybody was moved to tears by his plight.
Several months passed in this manner. One day, Mannu was sitting in the street when he heard some boys making a commotion. He saw an old woman, her head uncovered and her hair dishevelled. She was unclothed save for the rags wrapped around her waist. Like a ghost, she walked towards him. The boys behind her were pelting stones at her, shouting, ‘Mad Naani, Mad Naani’ at her and clapping their hands as they followed her. Every now and then she would stop and tell the boys, ‘I’m not insane. Why are you calling me mad?’ Finally, she sat on the ground and said, ‘Tell me, why do you call me mad?’ She wasn’t even a bit angry with the boys. She neither cried nor smiled. She kept quiet even when the stones hit her.
One of the boys asked, ‘Why don’t you wear clothes? What else is this if not madness?’
The old woman replied, ‘Clothes are worn for protection against the cold in the winter season. It’s summer these days.’
The boy asked again, ‘Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?’
The old woman answered, ‘What is it that you call shame? There are so many ascetics who remain naked all their lives. Why don’t you hit them with stones?’
The boy said, ‘They are men.’
The old woman asked, ‘Is shame the preserve of only women? Shouldn’t men feel this shame?’
‘You eat whatever is thrown at you. Only a mad person does that,’ the boy persisted.
‘What is so mad about it? If one feels hungry, one has to fill one’s belly.’
‘You’ve no sense of discrimination. Don’t you feel repelled by these things?’
‘I don’t know what repulsion is. Nothing repels me now.’
‘Everyone is repelled by something or the other. Shall I explain to you what repulsion is?’
Another boy piped in, ‘Why do you throw away the money people give you? If someone offers you clothes, you don’t take them. Why shouldn’t we call you mad?’
‘What should I do with money or clothes?’
‘You need them. Everyone lusts for money.’
‘What is lust, son? I’ve forgotten it.’
‘That is why we call you mad granny. You’ve no lust, no repulsion, no shame, no sense of discrimination. That’s why you’re called mad.’
‘Then so be it. Let me be a mad woman.’
‘Why don’t you feel anger?’
‘I don’t know, son. I just don’t feel angry at anything. Do people really feel angry? I’ve forgotten how to.’
At this, several boys broke out into a clamour—‘Mad woman, mad woman’—but the old woman quietly proceeded on her way. When she came close, Mannu recognized her. It was Budhiya. He threw himself at her feet. A startled Budhiya looked down at him, and then clutched him to her chest.
4
As soon as she took Mannu in her lap, Budhiya realized that she was naked. Overcome by shame, she sat down and called out to a boy. ‘Son, could you give me something to wear?’
‘Didn’t you say that you’d lost your sense of shame?’
‘No, son. Now I’ve got it back. I don’t know what had happened to me.’
When the boys again shouted ‘Mad woman, mad woman,’ she started hitting them with stones. She even ran after them.
One of the boys asked, ‘A moment ago, you knew nothing about anger. So why on earth are you getting furious now?’
‘I don’t know why I am getting angry now. If anyone calls me mad again, I’ll have him bitten by the monkey.’
One of the boys came running with a tattered rag. The old woman wore it. She also arranged her hair. The insanity that glowed on her face earlier was replaced by the sombre glow of reflection. Crying, she said to Mannu, ‘Oh, son, where had you gone? It has been such a long time . . . didn’t you care about us? Your master passed away longing for you. I begged in order to fill my belly. The house was reduced to shambles. When you were here, I cared about food, clothes, jewellery and the house. But all my desires vanished as soon as you went away. I was troubled by hunger, but nothing else mattered for me in this world. My eyes didn’t even shed any tears when your master died. He was groaning with pain while lying on the cot, but my heart had turned into stone. Forget getting medicines for him, I didn’t even care to stand beside his bed. I would think “Who is he?” Now when I remember all those things and the state which I was in, I have to admit that I had indeed become insane and it was only right that the boys should call me “Mad Naani”.’
Budhiya went with Mannu to a garden outside the town. She lived in that garden under a tree. There was only some straw there for her to lie on. There was no other object necessary for survival.
From that day onwards, Mannu began to live with Budhiya. He’d leave the shelter in the morning and return home with some vegetables and bread that he’d earned showing off his acrobatics or simply begging. Even if Budhiya had a son, he wouldn’t have showed his mother the kind of love that Mannu showed. People were delighted by his acts and gave him money in return for the entertainment. Budhiya bought food from the market with this money.
People were amazed by Mannu’s deep love for Budhiya. They declared that Mannu was not a monkey but a deity.
Translated from the Hindi by M. Asaduddin
The Prophet’s Justice
1
Not much time had passed since Prophet Muhammad had received the divine revelations. Apart from a score of neighbours and close relatives, not many had accepted his faith. Even his daughter Zainab and her husband, Abul Aas, who were married before Muhammad had attained prophethood, had not accepted the faith. Zainab had visited her parents a couple of times and had heard her father preaching. She respected Islam from her heart, but couldn’t muster enough courage to embrace it because of Abul Aas. Abul Aas was a successful businessman and believed in the freedom of thought. He exported dates and other products to many ports. He was hard-working and upright and honest in his transactions, and could spare little time from his worldly routine to think about the hereafter. Zainab was in a dilemma: If her soul was with the new faith, her heart was with her husband. Sh
e couldn’t give up either the faith or her husband. The other members of the family were all idol worshippers and enemies of this new community. Zainab hid her devotion to the new-found faith, even from her husband. It was not the age of religious tolerance. Rivers of blood would flow even in trivial matters. Entire families would be wiped out. Tales of valour would be sung in every street. There was nothing in the name of political structure. Blood for blood. Death for loss of wealth. Death for insult. It was as though blood-letting was the only solution to any quarrel. In such a situation, expressing her loyalty to the new faith would have brought Muhammad and his small band of followers in conflict with Abul Aas’s powerful family. Her love for her husband also stood in the way. To enter into the new faith meant that she would be separated for all times from her husband, whom she loved more than her life. The Quraish tribe, in which Muhammad had been born, considered such mixed marriages an insult to the community. Caught between love and faith, Zainab did not know what to do.
2
Attachment to a faith is a sign of weakness. But when the attachment is intense, it overwhelms the mind. It was noon. The sun was so strong that one couldn’t bear to look at it. Hazrat Muhammad was sitting steeped in thought. Despair seemed to envelop him from all sides. Khadija, his wife, was sitting beside him with her head lowered, and was mending a tattered shirt. Whatever they possessed had already been sacrificed at the altar of the new faith. The enmity of his rivals was increasing day by day. His followers were being subjected to all kinds of travails. It was difficult for the prophet himself to move out of his house. People sometimes threw stones at him. He often got news of his followers being robbed or injured, which made him extremely sad. He prayed to God for patience and forgiveness.
The Prophet said, ‘These people won’t allow me to stay here any more. I can bear it, but I can’t bear to see my friends undergoing such travails.’