The Complete Short Stories

by Premchand

  By the time he reached his field the fire had consumed the greater part of the harvest. Jhingur broke out into a loud wail. The villagers came running. They pulled out lentil stalks and started beating the fire out. It was a deadly fight between the fire and the human beings. The devastation went on for a good part of the night. Sometimes one party had the upper hand, sometimes the other. The warriors on the side of the fire put up a valiant fight, and when they seemed to have been all but extinguished rose up again. Among the human warriors, Buddhu shone the brightest. His dhoti tucked around his waist, he took his life into his hands and leapt into the fireballs with the determination to subdue the enemy or die in the process. He escaped narrowly many times. In the end, the human warriors won, but the victory was worse than defeat. The sugar cane crop of the entire village was reduced to ashes, sounding a death knell for all their hopes.

  3

  It was an open secret who had set the fire. But no one dared say anything about it. There was no evidence and it was pointless to talk about a case without any evidence. As for Jhingur, it became difficult for him to go out of his house. Wherever he went he had to listen to people’s imprecations. People said right to his face, ‘The fire broke out because of you! You’ve ruined us. Where’s your sky-high vanity now? You’ve destroyed yourself and the entire village. If you hadn’t picked that fight with Buddhu, none of this would have happened.’

  Jhingur was more hurt by these jibes than by the destruction of his crop. He stayed in his house the whole day. It was the month of Poos, when usually bullocks pulled the cane press the entire night, the aroma of molasses filled the air, fires were lit and people smoked hookah sitting by the fireside. But now there was total desolation. The chill drove people indoors in the early evening, where they lay cursing Jhingur. The month of Maagh was even more painful. The cane crop not only brought prosperity to peasants but also sustained their lives. They tided over the winter with its help. They drank hot cane juice while cane leaves gave them warmth, and they fed tender cane shoots to animals. All the dogs of the village that slept in the warmth of the ashes died; many animals died for lack of fodder. The chill intensified and the entire village got inflicted with fever and cold. All this happened because of the wretched Jhingur, the murderer!

  Jhingur thought and thought and finally resolved that Buddhu must be reduced to a situation similar to what he was facing. He has ruined me and is living a life of comfort. I’ll destroy him.

  Since the day of their deadly fight Buddhu had stopped coming by Jhingur’s area. Jhingur decided to get close to him. He wanted to show Buddhu that he didn’t suspect him of starting the fire. He went to Buddhu one day on the pretext of getting a blanket, and then he went on another day to get some milk. Buddhu greeted him with utmost courtesy. A man offered hookah even to an enemy, and Buddhu wouldn’t let Jhingur go without making him drink milk and syrup. These days Jhingur was working in a jute-wrapping mill to earn his livelihood. Often, he was paid several days’ wages together. It was only with Buddhu’s help that he was able to manage his day-to-day expenses. Jhingur took this opportunity to deepen his intimacy with Buddhu. One day, Buddhu asked him, ‘Jhingur, what would you do if you found out who had set fire to your cane field? Tell me honestly.’

  Jhingur said in a sombre tone, ‘I’ll tell him—brother, you’ve done me a good turn. You’ve destroyed my vanity and made a man out of me.’

  ‘Had I been in your place, I wouldn’t have rested until I’d burnt down his house.’

  ‘This worldly life is so short—why nurture ill will against anyone? I’ve been ruined. What shall I gain by ruining him?’

  ‘Sure, that is true dharma, which we should follow. But, brother, such reasoning vanishes in the heat of rage.’

  4

  It was the month of Phagun. The peasants were readying the field for planting cane. Buddhu was doing a brisk business. His sheep were in great demand. One always saw some peasants standing at his door fawning over him. Buddhu didn’t have a kind word for anyone. He doubled the rate of hiring out his sheep to fertilize the field. If anybody objected he’d say bluntly, ‘Look, brother, I’m not foisting my sheep on you. If you’ve a problem, don’t take them. But I can’t decrease the rate even by a cowrie.’ The fact was—everybody needed them, so they swarmed around him despite his rudeness, clinging to him as the pandas cling to pilgrims.

  Lakshmi’s image isn’t huge, but it grows big or small according to circumstances. Sometimes she can contract her most glorious manifestation into some small figures printed on a paper. Sometimes she goes to sit on the tip of somebody’s tongue, and her form vanishes. Even so, she needs quite a bit of space to live permanently. When she comes the house begins to grow larger. Buddhu’s house also began to grow larger. A veranda was built in front of the door. Six rooms were built where there were two rooms earlier. In fact, the entire house was being built anew. Buddhu demanded wood from one peasant, from another he extracted cow-dung cakes to be used as kiln fuel for making tiles, from some others he got bamboo and reeds. He had to pay for building the walls, though, but he didn’t pay in cash even for that. He paid in kind, in the form of young lambs. This was Lakshmi’s blessing. The entire job was accomplished gratis; a fairly good house was built without spending practically anything. Preparations began in earnest for the house-warming.

  Jhingur had to work hard through the day, which brought him just enough to fill half his belly, while gold was raining on Buddhu’s house. If Jhingur was consumed with jealousy, who could blame him? Who could ever bear such injustice?

  One day, Jhingur, while taking a stroll, happened to go in the direction of the tanners’ settlement. He met Harihar, who greeted him and filled a hookah for him. They began to smoke. Harihar was the leader of the tanners and was a mischief monger. Every peasant was scared of him.

  Taking a drag of the chillum, Jhingur said, ‘Aren’t you singing Phaag to welcome spring this time? I haven’t heard you.’

  Harihar replied, ‘Where’s the time to think of Phaag? One has to work the entire day to fill one’s belly. How are you getting along?’

  ‘Not well. It’s a hard life. I have to work all day long in the mill to eke out a living. These days Buddhu’s making a lot of money. He doesn’t have room to store it! He’s built a new house, bought some more sheep. Nowadays everyone’s talking about his house-warming. He’s going to send paan to all the seven villages to invite people.’

  Harihar said, ‘When Mother Lakshmi comes, people grow generous. But just look at him, his feet do not touch the earth. He always talks with a swagger!’

  Jhingur replied, ‘And why not? Who’s there in the village to meet his clout? But yes, brother, it’s not good to show vanity. When God showers His blessings one should bow one’s head and accept them humbly. One shouldn’t be proud as to think that he’s above everybody. When I hear him bragging, my whole body burns. Yesterday’s shepherd is today’s millionaire. How he swaggers in front of me! Why, I have seen him wearing a loincloth and driving away crows in the field. Now, his fortunes are on the upswing.’

  ‘Shall we do something about it?’

  ‘What can we do? He doesn’t rear cows or buffaloes for fear that someone will poison them.’

  ‘But he has his flock of sheep.’

  ‘They’re not worth the trouble.’

  ‘Well, think about it carefully.’

  ‘Think of a strategy so that he’s not able to rise again.’

  Their conversation became hushed. It’s a mystery that while the good brings out jealousy in people, the bad binds them in love. A scholar is jealous of another, a saint is jealous of another saint, and a poet is jealous of another poet. They do not even want to see each other’s faces. But when a gambler meets another gambler, a drunkard meets another drunkard or a thief meets another thief, they form a bond and help one another. If a pandit sees another stumbling and falling on the ground in the dark, he wouldn’t help him stand but instead would give him two kicks so that he’s
not able to stand on his feet. But when a thief sees another in a tight situation, he helps his comrade. Everybody hates the bad, that’s why there’s love among people who are bad. On the other hand, everybody loves the good, and that’s why there’s rivalry among the good. What will a thief gain by beating another thief except hatred? But if a scholar defames another scholar, it increases his own fame.

  Jhingur and Harihar finished their conversation. The plot was hatched. The method, time and sequence of action were decided. Jhingur wasn’t walking back—he was strutting! He’d already killed his enemy—there was no way Buddhu could escape now.

  5

  The following day, on his way to work, Jhingur stopped by Buddhu’s house. Buddhu asked him, ‘Aren’t you working today?’

  ‘I’m on my way, but I came to request you to allow my calf to graze with your sheep. The poor thing remains tied up to the post the whole day. There’s neither grass nor fodder. What do I feed him?’

  ‘Brother, I don’t keep cows and buffaloes. You know the tanners, they’re all murderers. That Harihar killed two of my cows, I don’t know what he fed them. Since then I’ve taken a vow not to keep cattle any more. But yours is just a calf, no one will harm her. Bring her over whenever you want.’

  Then he began to show Jhingur the articles he had bought for the house-warming. Ghee, sugar, flour and vegetables were all on display. They were now waiting for the Satyanarayan katha. Jhingur’s eyes popped out. He had never seen such an array of goods before, nor had he seen anyone organizing such an event. When he returned home after work the first thing he did was to take his calf over to Buddhu’s house. That night the Satyanarayan katha was held and a feast offered to the Brahmins. Through the night the Brahmins were treated with great honour and hospitality. Buddhu had no time to even go and see his flock of sheep. He had only had a meal in the morning (he didn’t find time to eat at night). Suddenly, a man came to him and said, ‘Buddhu, you’re sitting here while your calf is lying dead among the sheep. My good fellow, you didn’t even take the rope off its neck.’

  Buddhu felt as though he’d been hit by someone. Jhingur, who was there, broke out in a wail, ‘Oh God, my calf? I want to see her! Look, I never tied her with a rope. I brought her over and left her with the flock of sheep. Then I went back home. When did you tie her with a rope, Buddhu?’

  ‘God knows, I haven’t even seen any rope! I haven’t had time to watch my own flock since morning.’

  ‘If you didn’t, then who else would’ve put the rope around her neck? You must have done it and forgotten.’

  One of the Brahmins remarked, ‘But it’s lying dead in your flock. People are going to say that the calf died because of Buddhu’s negligence, no matter who tied the rope.’

  Just then Harihar appeared on the scene and said, ‘I saw him tying the calf last night among his sheep.’

  Buddhu asked, ‘Me?’

  ‘You had your stick over your shoulder and you were tying up the calf!’

  ‘And you call yourself an honest fellow, don’t you? You really saw me tying up the calf?’

  ‘Why are you getting so annoyed, brother? If you want to say you didn’t tie her up, so be it!’

  The Brahmin said menacingly, ‘We will have to come to a decision about it. A cow has been slaughtered, and it must be atoned. Do you think it’s a joke?’

  Jhingur remarked, ‘‘Maharaj, the killing was not intentional.’

  ‘What difference does it make? This is slaughter. How else does one slaughter a cow?’

  ‘That’s right. Tying and untying cows is a risky act.’

  ‘The scriptures designate it as the greatest sin one can commit. Killing a cow is no less than killing a Brahmin.’

  ‘Correct. The cow is a sacred animal. That’s why we respect her. She’s our mother. But, Maharaj, a mistake has been made. Find a way for the poor fellow to come out of this without much loss.’

  Buddhu stood listening to how easily he was being charged with murder. He understood that this was Jhingur’s ploy. But no one was going to listen to him even if he swore a million times that he hadn’t tied the calf. They’d say he was doing it to avoid atonement.

  The Brahmin God also stood to benefit from such atonement. He was not going to pass up such an opportunity. The outcome was that the charge of cow slaughter was slapped on Buddhu. The Brahmin who had been incensed with Buddhu got an opportunity to extract his revenge. The atonement involved three months of begging in public, then a pilgrimage to the seven holy sites, feeding five hundred Brahmins and giving a gift of five cows. Buddhu was stunned as he listened to the verdict. He began to howl. Seeing his condition the period of begging was reduced to two months. No other concession was granted. There was no scope for appeal, no one to complain to. The poor fellow had to accept the punishment. Buddhu left his sheep in God’s care. His children were young. And what could his wife do on her own? The poor fellow wandered from one door to another. Hiding his face, he’d beg for alms, saying, ‘I’ve been punished for cow slaughter!’ He received alms but he had to listen to the insults hurled by people. In the evening, he would sit under a tree, cook whatever he had gathered during the day and then go to sleep right there. He did not mind the hard life, as he was accustomed to wandering all day with his sheep and sleeping under trees. As for food, the fare at his home wasn’t much better. What really rankled him was the shame of begging, especially when some people taunted him saying, ‘What a fine way to earn your bread!’ It pierced his heart but what could he do?

  Buddhu returned home after two months. His hair was long, and he looked as feeble as an old man of sixty. He now had to arrange money for his pilgrimage. Which moneylender was interested in lending money to a shepherd? One could not rely on sheep. Sometimes an epidemic broke out and an entire flock lay dead in the span of a single night. On top of it, it was the month of Jeth, when there were no earnings from sheep. Finally, an oilman agreed to lend him money at an interest rate of two rupees. In eight months the interest would be equal to the principal amount. Buddhu did not dare borrow money on these terms. During the two months that he was away, many of his sheep had been stolen. When his children took them out to graze, people from other villages would steal one or two sheep from the flock and later slaughter and eat them. The boys, poor things, couldn’t catch anyone, and even when they saw the thieves, how could they fight them? The entire village ganged up to fight the boys. In a month, the flock had been reduced to less than half. It was a serious crisis. Helpless, Buddhu sent for a butcher and sold the whole flock to him for five hundred rupees. From this he took two hundred rupees and set out on his pilgrimage. The rest of the money was set aside for feeding the Brahmins.

  During his absence Buddhu’s house was broken into twice, but by some stroke of luck the family woke up and the money was saved.

  6

  It was the rainy month of Saavan. Everything had turned green all around. Jhingur had no bullocks now and had rented out his field to share croppers. Buddhu was done with his atonement, and with it had got rid of the trappings of wealth. Neither Jhingur nor Buddhu had anything left to boast about. They had no reason to feel jealous of each other.

  The jute mill where Jhingur worked had closed down. Jhingur now worked as a labourer at construction sites. A very large rest house for pilgrims was being built.

  Thousands of labourers worked there. Every seventh day Jhingur collected his wages and went home and after spending the night there he would go back to the site the next morning.

  Buddhu also reached the same site looking for work. The supervisor thought him too weak for hard work and employed him to carry mortar to the masons. Once when he was carrying a tray on his head to fetch mortar he encountered Jhingur.

  ‘Ram, Ram,’ they greeted one another and Jhingur filled the tray. Buddhu lifted it up. They went about doing their work the rest of the day.

  In the evening Jhingur asked him, ‘Are you going to cook something?’

  ‘How can I eat if I don’t
?’

  ‘I munch on something in the morning. In the evening I have some sattu with water. Why fuss!’

  ‘You can gather some of the wood that’s lying around. I’ve brought some flour from home. I had it ground there—it costs the earth here. I’ll knead it on the rock here. You won’t eat the rotis I prepare; so I’ll just get them ready and you can make them.’

  ‘But there’s no pan.’

  ‘Don’t worry about pans. I’ll scour one of these mortar trays.’

  The fire was lit, the flour kneaded. Jhingur made his half-baked rotis, Buddhu brought the water. They both ate the rotis with salt and pepper. Then they filled the chillum, and lay down on the rocks and smoked.

  Buddhu said, ‘I was the one who set fire to your cane field.’

  Jhingur said light-heartedly, ‘I know.’

  After a little while Jhingur said, ‘I was the one who tied up the calf and Harihar fed it something.’

  Buddhu said in the same light-hearted tone, ‘I know.’

  Then they went to sleep.

  Translated from Urdu by the M. Asaduddin

  Money for Deliverance

  1

  Of all the trades that we have in India, the business of lending money is the most advantageous. Usually the annual rate of interest is charged at twenty-five per cent but for vast pieces of land or large amounts of money the annual rate of interest is charged at twelve per cent. It is generally impossible to get a loan at a lesser rate of interest. There is hardly any business that provides a profit margin of over fifteen per cent, and that too without much hassle. And apart from the money received from interest, additional expenses like token money, paperwork, brokerage and money spent on court proceedings are also borne by the borrower. All this income, in some way or the other, finds its way into the moneylender’s pocket. This is the reason that the business of lending money is on the rise. Advocates, doctors, government employees, landowners, whoever has surplus wealth, can start this business. This is an excellent way to utilize one’s savings wisely.