by Premchand
Lala Daudayal was also a moneylender of this category. He worked as a solicitor and lent whatever he saved at twenty-five to thirty per cent of interest a year. He mostly did business with lower-class people. He was cautious of high-class people; he never let them loiter around him. His belief was (and every businessman would support this) that it’s better to throw money into a ditch than lend it to a Brahmin, Kshatriya or Kayastha. At the time of receiving the loan they would appear to possess enough wealth to secure the loan, but the moment the money reached their hands, all their wealth seemed to disappear. Their wives, sons or brothers would materialize from somewhere to assert their right on the wealth and it would, in a way, seem that their wealth never actually existed in reality. And their legal preparation was such that many erudite scholars of law would also concede defeat.
One day Daudayal was returning home from court when he witnessed a strange incident. A Muslim man was selling his cow on the road, and many people had surrounded him. Some thrust money in his hands while a few tried to snatch the tether from him, but the poor Muslim man only kept on looking at the faces of the customers and after pondering over something held the tether even more tightly. The cow was a beauty. She had a slender neck, heavy haunches and milk-filled udders. A beautiful, sturdy calf stood by, glued to its mother. The Muslim man seemed extremely agitated and sad. He was looking at the cow with compassion-filled eyes, trying to contain his emotions. Daudayal was delighted to see the cow. He asked, ‘Hey, do you want to sell the cow? What’s your name?’
When the Muslim man saw Daudayal, he went to him happily and said, ‘Yes, sir, I want to sell her.’
‘Where have you brought her from? What’s your name?’
‘My name is Rehman and I live in Pacholi.’
‘Does she give milk?’
‘Yes, sir, she will give around one kilolitre of milk at a time. She is so good that she allows even a child to milk her. Children keep playing around her feet but that never annoys her.’
‘Does anybody know you here?’ The solicitor was suspicious, thinking that the cow might be stolen.
‘No, sir, I am a poor man, nobody knows me.’
‘What is your asking price?’
Rehman asked for fifty rupees. The solicitor felt that thirty rupees was the correct price to strike a deal. For a while both sides haggled. One craved the money while the other craved the cow. It didn’t take long to seal the deal. It was fixed at thirty-five rupees.
Rehman had made the deal but he was still ensnared by love. He kept standing there for some time lost in thought, then he began to follow Daudayal with the cow slowly.
Then another man said, ‘Hey, I will give you thirty-six rupees. Come with us.’
‘I won’t give you the cow; you can’t force me.’
Another man said, ‘Take forty rupees from me . . . that should make you happy, yes?’ He tried to take the cow from Rehman’s hand, but Rehman did not relent. Finally, everybody left in disappointment.
After a little while Rehman said to Daudayal, ‘Sir, you are a Hindu, you will rear her well and take care of her. All those people are merciless; I wouldn’t have sold her to them for even fifty rupees. You came on time; otherwise they would have snatched the cow away by force. I have fallen into deep trouble, sir, that is why I had to sell the cow. Otherwise I wouldn’t have ever sold her. I have raised her on my own. How could I have sold her to those butchers? Sir, if you feed her oilcakes she will give you ample milk. Even a buffalo’s milk is not as sweet and thick as hers. Sir, I have one more request, tell your herdsman not to ever beat her.’
Daudayal looked at Rehman in astonishment. God! A person of his class has so much goodness and compassion! Even fervent devotees of Lord Shiva and great mahatmas sell cows to brutes to not incur losses of any kind. And this poor man sold the cow to me despite suffering a loss only to ensure she’s not mistreated. The poor also possess such wisdom!
He returned home and gave the money to Rehman. Rehman tied the money in a knot, looked at the cow lovingly once more and took his leave.
Rehman was a poor peasant, and everybody is out to exploit the poor. The landowner had filed a case against him in the court claiming an increased rate of land revenue. Money was required to contest the case in the court. Rehman didn’t have any property except for a pair of oxen. He loved the cow more than his life, but as he couldn’t arrange for the money, he was forced to sell her.
2
There were many Muslims living in Pacholi. The route to hajj had opened after many years. During the World War in the West the route had been closed. Men and women started to go on hajj again in hordes from the village. Rehman’s old mother was also preparing to go on hajj. She said to Rehman, ‘Son, I only have one desire left in my heart. I don’t want to leave this world without seeing this desire fulfilled. Allah will reward you for it.’ Devotion to their mothers is a special characteristic of rural people. Earlier, Rehman had failed to collect enough money to send his mother on hajj but now he dared not ignore her command. He thought of borrowing money from somebody. He reasoned with himself, Some I will return after harvesting this season’s sugar cane crop, the rest I will repay next year. By Allah’s grace the sugar cane has grown like never before. This is all because of mother’s prayers. But whom should I ask? I need a minimum of two hundred rupees. I do not even know any moneylenders. The few that we have here are always after their customers’ lives. Maybe I should go to Lala Daudayal. He is better than the rest. But I have heard that he is known to extract his money back as per the deal, he doesn’t relent one bit. If he doesn’t get his money back there is no respite for the customer. He starts a dialogue only after he has filed a lawsuit against the customer. Although, it is true that he doesn’t cheat his customers . . . he keeps the transaction transparent.
For many days he was in a fix—should he approach Daudayal or not? What if he was unable to return the money? Daudayal wouldn’t relent without dragging him to court. His house, cattle, everything would get auctioned. But having reached his wits’ end, he finally went to Daudayal and asked for the loan.
‘Weren’t you the one who sold the cow to me?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I will lend you the money but you must return it as per your promise. If you fail to keep the deadline then the onus falls on you. I won’t give you any concession then. Tell me, when will you return the money?’
Rehman did some calculations in his head and answered, ‘Sir, give me two years.’
‘If you don’t return the money in two years the rate of interest will become thirty-two per cent. I will be generous enough not to file a case against you.’
‘Do as you please. I won’t run away.’
Rehman got one hundred and eighty rupees instead of two hundred. Some money was deducted for the paperwork, some was kept as token money, and some for brokerage. He returned home and sold some jaggery that was kept in the house. He advised his wife on how to manage the family affairs and left for Mecca with his mother.
3
When the deadline for returning the money passed, Daudayal summoned Rehman to him and said harshly, ‘Haven’t your two years elapsed? Come on, where is the money?’
Rehman answered piteously, ‘Sir, I’ve fallen on hard times. My mother has been sick ever since she returned from hajj. The entire day I keep running from pillar to post to get her medicines. I just want to be by her side as long as she is alive; work I can do all my life. There was no harvest this time, sir. The sugar cane dried up because it didn’t get any water. The other plants in the farm have also wilted. I didn’t get enough time to even carry them to the granary. I couldn’t even prepare the soil for the spring crop; the seeds are still lying wasted. Allah knows how difficult my days have become. Sir, I will repay each and every penny of yours. Grant me a period of one year. The moment my mother gets better, I’ll be back to work.’
‘The rate of interest will become thirty-two per cent.’
‘As you wish, sir.’<
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Rehman returned home to find that his mother was on her deathbed. It had become painful for her to even breathe. She only wanted a glimpse of her son, which was fulfilled as soon as he entered. His mother looked at him with fondness, bestowed her blessing on him and departed for heaven. Until then, Rehman had been up to his neck in debt. Now the debt pretty much drowned him.
He borrowed some money from his neighbours for the funeral but in order to provide peace and satisfaction to the soul it was essential to give a portion of one’s land as alms, read prayers for the dead and also give offerings to saints. A shroud was required too, and apart from all this, along with various other rituals, he also had to organize a feast for the community, give money to the poor and read from the Holy Koran.
The only way he could show devotion to his departed mother was by observing all the rituals. All his responsibilities towards his mother—temporal and spiritual—were coming to an end. Only her memories would be left behind to invoke at the time of difficulties. ‘I could have achieved so much, if only God had given me the means. My condition is worse than the people around me.’
He started thinking about where he could get the money from. Now even Daudayal wouldn’t give him a penny. ‘I must at least visit him once. Who knows, may be his heart will melt after hearing my bitter story. He’s a big man; if he chooses to be compassionate, a couple of hundred rupees will not even matter to him.’
After making up his mind he went to visit Daudayal. It wasn’t easy for him to make the journey. How could he show his face to Daudayal and ask for more money? Only three days have gone by since I promised him I would return the loan in a year’s time. What will I say when I ask for two hundred more! If I had been in his place maybe even I wouldn’t have given it. He may think that I’m not honest. What if he shuns me, or threatens me? What if he asks me on what grounds am I asking for more money? What will I say then? My hands are all the wealth I have. What else do I have? My house is of no value. The farms belong to the landowner; I have no claim left on them. I’m going in vain. He is sure to throw me out and whatever self-respect is left will be lost too.
In spite of such a disheartening thought he plodded on ahead like a widow on her way to the police station to make an appeal.
Daudayal had returned from court and was as usual reprimanding the servants. ‘Why haven’t you sprinkled water at the gate or kept chairs in the veranda?’ Meanwhile, Rehman inched towards him.
Daudayal was already annoyed, so he asked him with irritation, ‘What are you here for? Why are you after my life? I don’t have the time to talk right now.’
Rehman couldn’t utter a word. He was so disappointed by the harsh words that he retraced his steps. Hadn’t I expected this? Didn’t I know this would happen? I was foolish to hope.
Daudayal became a little sympathetic. When Rehman had gone down the steps of the veranda Daudayal called him back and asked him kindly, ‘Why have you come? Is it for some work?’
‘No, master, I just dropped by to ask about your well-being.’
‘There is a saying that a peasant never asks about someone’s well-being without having an ulterior motive. What do you want, tell me.’
Rehman burst into tears. Daudayal guessed that his mother must have died. He asked, ‘Rehman, has your mother passed away?’
‘Yes, sir. It’s been three days.’
‘Don’t cry, what good will it do? Calm down, this was God’s will. Don’t shed tears over her death. She died in front of your eyes, what can be better than that?’
‘Sir, I have a request, but I can’t gather the courage to voice it. My previous loan is still unpaid, how do I ask for more money? But Allah knows there is no possibility of getting money from anywhere else and my need is such that if I don’t get the money for my purpose I will repent my whole life. I don’t have the right to bother you. The rest is up to you. If you decide to give me the money then do bear in mind that you are throwing that money in a ditch. All I can say is that if I stay alive I will return each and every penny with interest. But do not refuse me at this hour.’
‘Your loan has already added up to three hundred. In two years it will turn into seven hundred rupees. Do you realize that?’
‘O Merciful! God willing, I will make a profit of five hundred by selling two acres’ land worth of sugar cane, and in two years I will be able to return every penny of yours.’
Daudayal once again gave him two hundred rupees. People familiar with his nature were surprised to see his leniency.
4
There are similarities between farming and the condition of an orphan child. If air and water are provided in required measures there will be a heap of grains. Without them even flourishing crops betray us like false friends. Crops need to survive hailstones and dike, famine and flood, locusts and weeds, termites and storms in order to reach the granary. And there is natural animosity between granaries and fire and electricity. If it is able to escape from all these enemies then it can be called a harvest; otherwise it might turn out to be a fatal judgement! Rehman toiled night and day. He didn’t take a moment’s rest. He forgot about his wife and children. His sugar cane grew so tall that if an elephant entered the farm it would have disappeared in it. The whole village was astonished. People said to him, ‘Friend, you are very fortunate this time. You will definitely earn a minimum of seven hundred. All your problems will come to an end.’ Rehman decided that the moment he got the money for the jaggery he would lay all of it at Daudayal’s feet. Only if Daudayal himself returned four or five rupees would Rehman take it, otherwise he would spend the whole year on barley and bran.
But who can change the course of destiny? It was the month of December; Rehman was sitting on the boundary of his farm to guard it. He only had a coarse blanket to cover himself with, so he burned a few sugar cane leaves to keep himself warm. Suddenly, a gust of wind took a burning leaf towards the harvest. The farm caught fire. The villagers ran to smother the fire but the flames were like shooting stars which started from one end and quickly reached another. All measures to contain the fire failed. The whole farm burned to ashes and along with it Rehman’s aspirations also shattered. The poor man was devastated. His heart sank. He lost all hope. It seemed as if a plate laden with food had been snatched away from him. When he returned home the anxiety about returning Daudayal’s money again took hold of him. He wasn’t bothered about himself or his children. A peasant is accustomed to hardship, to remain starved and unclothed. He was worried about the loan. ‘The second year has begun. In a few days Daudayal’s man will come to ask for the money. How will I show my face to him? I must again plead with him to give me a year’s time. But then the amount will jump from seven hundred to nine hundred. And if he files a case I may have to return a thousand. Who is going to shower wealth on me in a year? He is such a considerate man; he lent me two hundred rupees so readily. Even my farm cannot be auctioned off. The oxen will barely fetch me four hundred. They aren’t half as strong as they were. Now my honour is in the hands of God. I have done whatever I could.’
It was early in the morning. Rehman was standing at the boundary of his farm, witnessing the scene of his own destruction. He saw Daudayal’s servant approaching him with a stick on his shoulder. He had been dreading the visit. ‘God, only you can save me from this situation. What if he abuses me the moment he sees me? O God, where shall I hide!’
The servant approached Rehman and said, ‘You don’t want to return the money? The term ended yesterday. Don’t you know the master! Even if one delays by a day he registers a case against that person. You will suffer terribly.’
Rehman started shivering. He said, ‘You must have observed the condition of the farm.’
‘I don’t want to listen to any of your excuses. Fool someone else. Come quickly with seven hundred rupees.’
‘My sugar cane crop has been gutted in the fire—all of it! Allah knows, this time I would have returned every penny.’
‘I don’t know all this. Onl
y you are responsible for your sugar cane. Now, quick, follow me, Master has summoned you.’
The servant grabbed Rehman’s arm and started dragging him away. The poor man wasn’t even given enough time to tie a turban around his head.
5
They had covered around ten miles now. Rehman had not lifted his head even once. Every now and then he muttered, ‘Allah, save me from this mess!’ He had faith in Allah. Only this mantra kept him going for this long. Otherwise he would have fallen into pieces already. He had reached that level of despair where it was a kind of delusion rather than rationality that governed him.
Daudayal was standing at the gate. Rehman fell at his feet and said, ‘I am in big trouble again. Allah knows that all my fortune has turned to dust.’
‘Did all the sugar cane burn?’
‘Master, have you heard about it already? It’s as if somebody has swept the farm clean. The sugar cane crop had reached so high, kind master, that if the mishap hadn’t occurred, I would have at least repaid the loan.’
‘What do you intend to do now? Will you pay now or shall I file a suit?’
‘Sir, you are my master, do as you please. I just know that I owe you money and must repay every penny. I don’t care about myself. I promised you twice and both the times I failed to keep the promise. Now I won’t make any promises; whenever I earn something I will keep it at your feet. I will toil, starve and save in whichever way I can to return your money.’