The Complete Short Stories

by Premchand

Daudayal smiled and said, ‘What is your deepest desire right now?’

  ‘The same, to return your money. Honestly. Allah knows.’

  ‘Okay, then consider it repaid.’

  ‘Master, how can this be true? If I don’t pay you here I will have to repay you after my death in another world.’

  ‘No, Rehman, do not worry about this any more. I was testing you.’

  ‘Sir, don’t say that. I don’t want to die with this burden.’

  ‘What kind of burden? You don’t owe me anything. And even if you did, I have waived that, for this world and for the world after this too. Now you don’t have to return anything to me. Actually I am only paying back whatever I owed you. I am your debtor, you are not my debtor. Your cow is still with me. She has given me at least eight hundred rupees’ worth of milk. And also two calves as an additional profit. If you had given the cow to some brutes how would I have enjoyed this profit? You bore a loss of five rupees that time to sell the cow to me. I still remember your honesty. It isn’t in my power to repay that favour. When you could bear the loss of five rupees in order to save the life of a cow despite being so poor, how can I, being a hundred times more affluent than you, be doing such a big service by waiving off four or five hundred rupees? Maybe you didn’t intentionally do me a favour but it was a favour done to my rectitude. I gave you money for a just cause. Now you and I are even. Both your calves are here with me. If you like you can take them with you, they will help you till the soil. You are an honest and respectable person; I will always be ready to help you. In fact, tell me if you require money even now—you may take as much as you like.”

  Rehman felt as if an angel was sitting in front of him. If a man is generous, he appears like an angel; and if despicable, he seems like a devil. These are the two faces of a man. Rehman was so speechless that he could not even thank Daudayal. He somehow kept his tears in check and said, ‘Sir, God will reward you for this kindness. I will consider myself your slave from this day onwards.’

  ‘No, you are my friend.’

  ‘No, sir, your slave.’

  ‘The money a slave pays in order to free himself is called muktidhan. You have already paid that. Now never utter this word again in your life.’

  Translated from the Hindi by Shradha Kabra

  Forgiveness

  1

  Muslims had been ruling Spain for several centuries. Mosques had been built in place of churches; the sound of the call to prayer had replaced the sound of bells. In Granada and Alhambra, palaces had been built that laughed at the ravages of time. Even today, their ruins show sight-seers a glimpse of their former glory. Prominent Christian men and women were leaving the protection of the Messiah to join the brotherhood of Islam, and even today historians are surprised by how any trace of Christianity survived there. Among the Christian leaders who had not yet surrendered to the Muslims and who still dreamt of establishing independence in their own land was a merchant named David. David was wise and courageous. He didn’t let Islam set foot in his neighbourhood. Poor and indigent Christian rebels from various parts of the country came to him as protégés and he fostered them with great compassion. The Muslims were always suspicious of David. Not being able to win him over with the force of the faith, they wanted to sway him with the power of arms, but David would never confront them. Yes, wherever he heard of Christians converting to Islam, he would go there like the wind and with counsel or humility inspire them to stay true to their original faith. Finally the Muslims started closing in on all sides, preparing to arrest him. Soldiers had surrounded his neighbourhood. David had to flee for his life with his associates. Having fled his home, he came to Granada, which was at that time the Islamic capital. There, staying aloof from everyone, he passed his life in anticipation of better days. Muslim spies tried in vain to discover his whereabouts. Enormous rewards were offered for his capture, but not a clue was found about David’s location.

  2

  One day, bored of his lonely existence, David went out for a stroll in one of Granada’s gardens. It was twilight. There were Muslims walking on the paths in their flowing robes, wearing very large turbans on their heads and swords at their waists. Women in white burqas with gold-embroidered slippers were sitting on the benches and chairs. Keeping a distance from all of them, David lay on the green grass thinking about the day his homeland would be released from the claws of the oppressors. He was imagining the past when Christian men and women would have strolled these paths, when this place would have bloomed with their convivial laughter.

  Suddenly, a Muslim youth sat down beside David. He looked at David carefully from head to toe with a derogatory gaze and said, ‘Has your heart not yet been illuminated with the light of Islam?’

  With deep feeling. David replied, ‘The light of Islam can only reach the mountain peaks; it cannot penetrate the deep, dark valleys.’

  The Muslim Arab’s name was Jamal. At this allegation he said sharply, ‘What do you mean by that?’

  David said, ‘By this I mean that it is the higher class of Christians who may come into the fold of Islam out of greed for wealth or status or out of fear of punishment, but for the weak or indigent Christians, where in Islam is the Kingdom of Heaven that our revered Messiah has destined for them in his lap? Islam was spread by the might of the sword, not by the might of service.’

  Affronted by the slight to his religion, Jamal got up angrily and said, ‘That is completely false. The power of Islam lies in its internal brotherhood and feeling of community, not in the sword.’

  ‘Islam has spilled enough blood in the name of religion to drown every mosque.’

  ‘The sword has protected the eternal truth.’

  David, with an even temper, said, ‘That which has to take the protection of the sword is not truth.’

  Jamal swelled with pride and said, ‘The sword will be necessary as long as disciples of falsehood remain.’

  ‘Truth that looks to the sword is itself falsehood.’

  With his hand on his sword-hilt, the Arab said, ‘I swear to God, if you weren’t unarmed, I would let you taste the consequences of insulting Islam.’

  David drew out the dagger he had concealed in his breast and said, ‘I am not weaponless. On the day I have that much trust in Muslims, I won’t remain a Christian. Go ahead, do what your heart desires.’

  Both drew their blades and fell upon each other. The Arab’s heavier sword lagged before the lighter dagger of the Christian. One struck like the hood of a poisonous serpent while the other reared like a she-snake. One lashed like waves while the other glittered like fish. For a while both warriors suffered wounds. Suddenly the she-snake jumped up and drove the weapon into the guts of the Arab. He fell to the earth.

  3

  As soon as Jamal fell people came running from all directions. They began to try to surround David. When David saw people coming at him with swords drawn, he tried to run for his life, but wherever he went his way was blocked by the garden wall. The wall was high; it would be difficult to get over it. It was a matter of life and death. No hope of shelter anywhere, no place to hide. And the Arabs’ blood lust was increasing by the moment. This was not just an attempt to punish a criminal. It was revenge for a communal insult. A subjugated Christian with the boldness to raise his hand against an Arab! What an offence!

  David’s condition was that of a squirrel running helter-skelter from a pack of hounds, trying to climb a tree but falling again and again.

  His breath became short from running, his feet heavy. It occurred to him several times to fall upon his pursuers and take down as many as possible as he died, but then seeing the numbers of his enemies he lost courage.

  Sounds of ‘Take him, run, catch him!’ filled the air. At times the pursuers came so close that it seemed like the end was upon him, the sword would fall soon; but his constant running pace, his weaving and bobbing saved him by a hair from the bloodthirsty swords.

  Now David began to find a sportsmanlike pleasure in the cha
se. It was certain that his life was a forfeit; Muslims knew no mercy. For this reason alone he was enjoying his manoeuvres. Now he got no happiness from the fact that his life was saved when somebody missed, rather he got pleasure from how he had foiled his would-be killer.

  Suddenly, he saw that the garden wall was a little lower to his right. Aha! Seeing that, his feet found a new infusion of strength, new blood began to flow in his veins. Like a deer he ran in that direction and in one leap he reached the other side of the wall. There was but the distance of one step between life and death. Behind was death and ahead lay the open field of life. As far as he could see there were shrubs and bushes. The ground was rocky and uneven. There were large boulders at places. David sat down under one of the boulders.

  In a breath the pursuers arrived and started searching here and there in the bushes, trees, hollows, and under the boulders. One Arab came and stood on the very boulder beneath which David was hiding. David’s heart was pounding. He was dead! If the Arab just peered a little lower then it was the end of him. Chance—his life now depended on mere chance. He stopped breathing, made not a sound. His fate would be decided with a single glance, so close was the gap between life and death.

  But the Arabs didn’t have enough time to look carefully under the boulders. They were in a hurry to catch the murderer. The fate hanging over David’s head moved on. They left after peering into nooks and crannies.

  4

  Darkness fell. In the sky the stars came out and with the stars David emerged from under the boulder. But he saw that even then there was commotion in every direction. A group of foes with torches was wandering in the underbrush; there was even a watch on the perimeters. There was no way to escape. David stood under a tree and started to wonder why his life had been spared. He wasn’t particularly concerned about it. He had tasted all the joys and sorrows of this world. If he had one desire, it was only to see how this war would end. Would his compatriots lose courage, or would they stand firm with undiminished bravery on the battlefield?

  When most of the night had passed, and it seemed that his enemies’ deadly efforts were not diminishing at all, David spoke God’s name and emerged from the bushes, and on tiptoe, under the cover of the trees, avoiding being seen by the men, set off in one direction. He wanted to get out of the bushes and get to a settled area. Desolate areas make poor cover; a village populace provides its own camouflage.

  For some distance no obstacle was encountered in David’s way. The trees sheltered him, but when he emerged from the uneven land into a more level area, he was sighted by an Arab. He raised the challenge. David ran. ‘The murderer is getting away!’ This cry echoed but once in the air and in a moment Arabs from all sides were again hot in pursuit. For a long distance ahead there was no trace of human habitation. Far off, a faint lamp was glimmering. Let me just reach it somehow, David thought. He was running towards the light with such speed it was as if as soon as he got to it he would have nothing to fear. Hope made him fly. The Arab mob was left behind; the light of the torches faded away. Only the starry heavens ran along with him. Finally he arrived before that hopeful lamp. There was a little thatched house. An old Arab was sitting on the ground, reading the Koran on a bookstand by the dim light of the lamp. David could go no further. His courage had failed him. He fell there, exhausted. The weariness of the journey becomes known only upon reaching the house.

  The Arab got up and said, ‘Who are you?’

  ‘A poor Christian. I’m in trouble. If you give me shelter now, my life will be saved.’

  ‘God will help you. What trouble has befallen you?’

  ‘I’m afraid that if I tell you, you too will thirst for my blood.’

  ‘Now you have come under my protection; you shouldn’t have any doubts about me. We are Muslims: once we have taken someone into our protection, we keep him safe all his life.’

  David said, ‘I have killed a Muslim youth.’

  The elderly Arab’s face turned red with anger, and he said, ‘His name?’

  ‘His name was Jamal.’

  The Arab clutched his head and sat down. His eyes became red, the sinews in his neck tightened; his face was flushed, his nostrils flared. It appeared as if a furious battle was raging in his mind and that he was suppressing his emotions with all his might. For several minutes he sat staring at the ground in this fraught condition. Finally, with his throat constricted, he said, ‘No, no, I will have to keep the vow of protection. Aah! What cruelty! Do you know who I am? I am the unfortunate father of that youth, whom you murdered today so mercilessly. Do you know what a terrible thing you have done to me? You’ve wiped out the last trace of my family! You’ve extinguished my lamp! Ah, Jamal was my only son. All my dreams were dependent on him. He was the light of my eyes, the guide in my blindness, the base of my life, the life of my feeble body. I’ve just come from laying him in the lap of the grave. Ah, my tiger, tonight you’re sleeping beneath the dust. There is not another youth among my people so brave, so devout, so handsome. Cruel man, you didn’t have even a little mercy when you raised your sword against him? Your stony heart didn’t have a trace of sympathy? Do you know how angry I am at you right now? My heart wants to grab your neck with both hands and squeeze it until your tongue protrudes from your mouth and your eyes pop out like cowrie shells. But no, you have taken my protection; duty binds my hands; because our Holy Prophet taught us not to raise our hand against someone who is under our protection. I don’t want to break the command of the Prophet and ruin my life in both this world and the next. You’ve destroyed my life here; shall I ruin my faith with my own hands? No. It is difficult to bear but I will bear it so that I don’t have to lower my eyes when I face my prophet. Come, come into the house. Your pursuers are running this way. If they see you then all my pleading won’t save your life. You know that Arabs never forgive a murder.’

  The old Arab grabbed David’s hand and took him inside and hid him in a room. No sooner had he gone back out than a group of Arabs came up to the door.

  One man asked, ‘Well, Shaikh Hasan, have you seen anyone come this way?’

  ‘Yes, I saw someone.’

  ‘Why didn’t you catch him? That was Jamal’s killer.’

  ‘I let him go despite knowing that.’

  ‘What? God save us! What have you done? When Jamal accosts us on Judgment Day, what answer will we give him?’

  ‘Say that his father has forgiven his killer.’

  ‘No Arab has ever forgiven a killer.’

  ‘That’s your responsibility. Why should I take it on my head?’

  The Arabs didn’t argue long with Shaikh Hasan; they ran off in search of the murderer. Shaikh Hasan sat back down on his mat and resumed reading the Koran but he couldn’t concentrate. The custom of taking revenge from an enemy was foremost in the customs of the Arabs. Blood for blood. For this custom, rivers of blood flowed, whole tribes were wiped out, towns and cities were laid waste. For Shaikh Hasan, it seemed that it would be impossible to conquer this custom. Again and again his beloved son’s face would hover before his eyes, again and again his mind was filled with the powerful urge to go and douse the fire of his wrath with David’s blood. Arabs were warriors. Violence was not an unusual thing for them. They would shed a few tears for the dead and then get on with their business. They only preserved the memory of a dead person in a situation when blood revenge was necessary. Finally, Shaikh Hasan panicked. He was frightened that now he would not be able to control himself. He drew his sword from the sheath, tiptoed to the door of the room in which David was hidden and stood outside. Hiding the sword in his clothing he opened the door slowly. David was pacing. Seeing the angry face of the old Arab, David perceived the nature of his thoughts. He felt sorry for the old man. He thought, ‘It’s not the fault of religion or nationality. If someone had killed my son then doubtless I would be thirsty for his blood too. It’s just human nature.’

  The Arab said, ‘David, you know how painful the death of a son is.’


  ‘I haven’t experienced it, but I can guess. If even a part of your pain can be lessened by my death, then here, my head is forfeit. I give it to you with pleasure. You must have heard the name “David”.’

  ‘Peter’s son?’

  ‘Yes. I’m that unfortunate David. I’m not just your son’s attacker. I’m the enemy of Islam. By taking my life, you will not only take revenge for Jamal’s death, but you will also be performing a true service to your religion and people.’

  Shaikh Hasan said with deep emotion, ‘David, I have forgiven you. I know that Christians have suffered a lot of pain at the hands of Muslims. Muslims have subjected them to great cruelties, snatched away their freedom! But this is the fault of Muslims, not of Islam. The exultation of victory has turned their minds. Our Holy Prophet did not teach us to act the way we are acting today. He himself was the supreme example of forgiveness and mercy. I will not damage the reputation of Islam. Take my she-camel and flee as far as you can before dawn. Don’t even stop for a moment. If the Arabs pick up your scent, your life is lost. Go, and may God see you home safely. And pray for old Shaikh Hasan and his son Jamal.’

  David reached home safely, but he was no longer the same David who wanted to eradicate Islam. There had been a great change in his way of thinking. Now he honoured Muslims and mentioned the name of Islam with respect.

  Translated from the Hindi by John Caldwell

  The Lashes of Good Fortune

  1

  Boys, whether rich or poor, are known to be particularly cheerful. Their playfulness does not depend on wealth or familial circumstances. Nathua’s parents were dead and the orphaned boy was usually found hanging about Rai Bholanath’s gates. Rai Sahib was a compassionate man and, occasionally, he would give Nathua the odd paisa. Enough food was left over in Rai Sahib’s kitchen to fill the stomachs of many orphans like him. Now and then, Nathua was also handed old clothes belonging to the boys in the family. So, even though he was an orphan, Nathua was not unhappy. Rai Sahib had rescued him from the clutches of a Christian. He did not care about the fact that Nathua would get some material comfort and schooling at the Mission; his only concern was that Nathua remain a Hindu. To him, the leftovers of his house were more blessed than the freshly cooked meal at the Mission. Sweeping his many rooms was better than getting schooled by the Christians. He must remain a Hindu, in whichever condition. If he turned Christian he would be lost forever.