by Premchand
Rai Sahib thanked him and left. After that day he began to come every two or three days to the mansion and sat there for hours. Ratna always accompanied him. Eventually, they began to visit every day.
One day Rai Sahib took Acharya Mahashay aside and asked, ‘Pardon me, but why don’t you call your wife and children here? Living alone must be difficult for you.’
‘I am not married; nor do I want to marry.’ His eyes were lowered while he said this.
‘Why is that? What do you have against marriage?’
‘No special reason, just a preference.’
‘Are you a Brahmin?’
The acharya coloured. He said with some unease, ‘Caste differences do not matter after one travels to Europe. Whatever I may be by birth, my vocation makes me a Shudra.’
‘Your humility is praiseworthy. It is truly remarkable that there are worthy people like you in this world. I also believe that deeds determine caste. Modesty, virtue, courtesy, good conduct, devotion, love for knowledge—these are all qualities of a Brahmin and I take you to be one. A person who does not have these characteristics is not a Brahmin, most certainly not. My Ratna feels great love for you. Till today no one has appealed to her but, forgive my being forward, you have bewitched her. Your parents—’
‘You are my mother and my father. I don’t know who gave birth to me. I was very young when they passed away.’
‘Oh! If they were alive today their chests would have swelled immensely with pride. Where does one find such worthy sons as you?’
Just then Ratna came into the room with a paper in her hand. She said to Rai Sahib, ‘Dadaji, Acharya Mahashay also writes poetry; see, I brought this from his table. Apart from Sarojini Naidu I’ve not seen such good poetry elsewhere.’
The acharya stole a glance at Ratna and then said bashfully, ‘These are just a few lines I scribbled. What would I know about writing poetry?’
6
Both the acharya and Ratna were desperately in love. Ratna was enamoured of his virtues and he was smitten with her. If Ratna had not crossed his path again, perhaps he would have never known love! But, once met, who can be indifferent to the alluring arms of love? Where is the heart that love cannot win?
Acharya Mahashay was drowned in uncertainty. His heart told him that the moment Ratna discovered his true identity she would turn her face away from him forever. No matter how generous she may be, or how painful she considered the chains of caste, she could not possibly be free of the aversion that would naturally arise towards him. So he did not have the courage to reveal his true self to her. Ah! If it were only a matter of revulsion he would not have hesitated, but the truth would cause her further grief, pain, heartbreak and there was no telling what she might do in the situation. To strengthen the ties of love while keeping her in the dark seemed to him the highest level of deceit. This was insincerity, trickery, villainy, and it was entirely unacceptable by the mores of love. He did not know what to do—he was caught in a terrible dilemma. On the one hand, Rai Sahib’s visits became increasingly frequent and his heart’s desire was reflected in his every word. On the other hand, Ratna began to come less often and this made Rai Sahib’s wish still more evident. Three or four months passed like this. Acharya Mahashay would think, He whipped me and turned me out of the house for lying on Ratna’s bed for a few moments. When he finds out that I am the same orphan, untouchable, homeless boy, how much more anguish, self-mortification, humiliation, remorse and dismay it would cause him! How overcome would he be with remorse and the agony of a vain hope!
One day Rai Sahib said, ‘We should set a date for the wedding. During this auspicious period I want to be free of the debt of a daughter.’
‘What date?’ asked Acharya Mahashay, though he understood perfectly what Rai Sahib was talking about.
‘Of Ratna’s wedding. I don’t care for matching horoscopes but the ceremony should be held at an auspicious time.’
The acharya kept his eyes glued to the ground and said nothing.
‘You are familiar with my situation. I have nothing to give except my daughter. For whom should I have saved when I have no one else besides her?’
Acharya Mahashay was lost in thought.
‘You know Ratna well. There is no need to praise her to you. Worthy or not, you must accept her.’
Acharya Mahashay’s eyes overflowed.
‘I firmly believe that God brought you here only for her. I pray to Him to bless you with a happy life. Nothing would make me happier. After fulfilling this duty I intend to spend my time in devotion to God, the rewards of which will also come to you.’
The acharya said in a choked voice, ‘Sir, you are like my father but I am not at all worthy of this.’
Rai Sahib embraced him. ‘Son, you possess all the virtues. You shine like a jewel in this society. It is a great honour for me to have you as my son-in-law. I will go now and see to setting the date and other things and inform you about them tomorrow.’
Rai Sahib stood up to go. The acharya wanted to say something but he did not have the opportunity or, shall we say, the courage to say it. His spirit was not so strong; nor did he have the power to bear Rai Sahib’s loathing.
7
It had been one month since the wedding. Ratna’s advent had lit up her husband’s home and sanctified his heart. The lotus had blossomed in the sea.
It was night. Acharya Mahashay was lying down after his dinner—on the very bed that had caused him to be driven out of this house. The bed that had changed the wheel of his fortune.
For a month he had been searching for an opening to tell Ratna the truth. His soul refused to accept that his good fortune was the reward of his own virtues. He strove to dissolve the metal of his person in the furnace of truth to determine its real worth. But he could never find the occasion because as the moment he set his eyes on Ratna he became spellbound. Who goes to a garden to cry; a small, dark room suffices for that.
Just then Ratna came smiling into the room. The light of the lamp dimmed.
The acharya smiled and asked, ‘Shall I put out the lamp?’
Ratna answered, ‘Why, are you feeling shy?’
‘Yes, actually I am.’
‘Because I won you over?’
‘No, because I deceived you.’
‘You do not have the power to deceive.’
‘You don’t know that. I’ve kept a huge secret from you.’
Ratna: ‘I know everything.’
‘Do you know who I am?’
‘Yes, I’ve known for a long time. When both of us played in this garden, when I’d hit you and you would cry . . . I’d give you my half-eaten sweets and you jumped on them . . . I’ve loved you since then. Of course, at that time it was expressed as kindness.’
The acharya was astounded. ‘Ratna, you knew and still—’
‘Yes, because I knew. I probably wouldn’t have otherwise.’
‘This is that same bed.’
‘And I’ve come into the bargain with it.’
The acharya embraced her and said, ‘You are the Goddess of forgiveness!’
Ratna replied, ‘I am your handmaid.’
‘Does Rai Sahib also know the truth?’
‘No, he doesn’t. And don’t ever tell him or he will kill himself.’
‘I still remember those whip lashes.’
‘My father has nothing left now with which to atone for that. Are you still not satisfied?’
Translated from the Hindi by Meenakshi F. Paul
Banishment
Parashuram: ‘Stop, stop right there at the veranda.’
Maryada: ‘Why? Have I been defiled?’
Parashuram: ‘First tell me where you have been all these days. Who were you with and how did you get by? And who brought you here? Then, only then, the decision . . . we will see.’
Maryada: ‘Is this the time to ask these questions? Will we not have another opportunity?’
‘Yes, this is the right time. After your bath you came out of the river along with m
e. You followed me for a while as well. I would turn from time to time to check on you but then you disappeared all of a sudden. Where did you go?’
‘Did you not notice the large band of naga sadhus that suddenly appeared in front of us? People ran helter-skelter. Jostled by the crowd I do not know where I went. When the crowd thinned, I began looking for you. I kept calling out Basu’s name, but you were not to be seen.’
‘And then?’
‘Then I sat down in a corner crying. I could not decide where to go, who to speak with, I felt terrified of the men around. I sat in the same spot till late in the evening, weeping.’
‘Why are you describing things in such detail? Where did you go from there?’
‘In the evening a young man walked up to me and asked, “Have you lost your family?” I replied, “Yes.” Then he asked for your name and address. He noted it all down in a book and said, “Come with me, I will send you home.”’
‘Who was that man?’
‘He was a volunteer from the Seva Samiti there.’
‘So you went off with him?’
‘What else could I have done? He took me to their committee office. There, in a tent, sat a man with a long beard, scribbling something. He was the volunteer supervisor. Several more volunteers were standing around. He noted down my address again and sent me off to another tent where there were countless other women sitting around, lost like me.’
‘Why didn’t you tell the supervisor that very minute to send you back home?’
‘I did, not once but hundreds of times. But he continued to say that till the fair got over, and till they had gathered all the lost women, he would be unable to arrange for me to be sent. He added that he neither had enough volunteers to help out nor the money for it.’
‘What did you lack in wealth? You could have sold off any one of your gold pieces and got a lot of money.’
‘But there were not enough men.’
‘Did you tell him not to worry about the expenses? That you could sell off your jewellery to pay him?’
‘No, this I did not say.’
‘Even in such a condition you were so attached to your jewellery?’
‘All the women there started telling me, “Why are you so worried? What are you scared of here? All of us want to return home quickly, but what can we do?” So I also kept quiet.’
‘If all the other women had jumped into a well, would you have too?’
‘I knew that these people were taking care of me for the sake of our dharma, not because they were my servants or hired labour. So what right did I have to plead with them? I was also relieved at seeing so many other women there.’
‘Absolutely! What could have been a bigger source of consolation to you than this? And tell me how many days did you spend there enjoying this sense of solace? The fair would have wound up on the second day.’
‘I spent the entire night with the other women in the tent.’
‘All right, but why did you not get them to send me a telegram?’
‘I thought, when they had promised to send me back anyway why send a telegram?’
‘Anyway, so you stayed the night there. The young men would have walked in and out all the time.’
‘Only once did a volunteer come to ask about food, and when all of us refused, he left. No one came after that. I stayed up all night.’
‘I am not ready to believe that there were so many young men around and no one came inside. The youth of such committees are not gods descended from heaven. Anyway, that bearded supervisor must surely have come to check up on things.’
‘Yes, he would come. But he would ask about us from the entrance and go back again. And yes, when one of the women suffered from stomach pains, he did come twice or thrice to give her medicines.’
‘Well, the truth finally comes out! I am familiar with every bone of these deceivers. I especially consider these painted, beaded, bearded ones supreme frauds. So that esteemed gentleman came there several times to administer medicines. I hope you did not have stomach pains as well?’
‘You are casting aspersions on a holy man. First, that poor man was as old as my father, and second, he never raised his eyes or stared at any one of us.’
‘Of course, only gods were gathered at that place. Anyway, you spent the night there. What happened on the second day?’
‘I stayed there the second day as well. A volunteer took the women around to the most important holy spots of the city to offer salutations. We all had lunch upon our return in the afternoon.’
‘Oh, so you went visiting and sightseeing there as well and faced no problems. You must have played music and sung songs after lunch?’
‘No, no music or songs, but each one had a sad story to tell. When the fair wound up in the evening two volunteers took us all to the railway station.’
‘But you returned today, after seven days, and that too all alone.’
‘An unfortunate incident took place at the station.’
‘Yes, yes, that I completely understand. What was the unfortunate accident?’
‘Just as the volunteer was going to get the tickets a man approached him and said, “There’s a gentleman staying here at the Gopinath Dharmashala whose wife has got lost. He has a noble name—a tall, fair and handsome man who lives in Lucknow in Jhabai Tila.” He described you so well that I believed him. I stepped forward and said, “Do you know this gentleman?” He laughed and replied, “If I didn’t know him why would I wander about looking for you? Your child is hoarse with crying.” The women started saying, “Go now, your husband must be very worried.” The volunteer asked him a few questions and then handed me over to him. How was I to know that I had fallen into the trap of a monster? My heart was overjoyed at the thought of seeing Basu again, that I would behold you once more. Perhaps it was this excitement which made me careless.’
‘So you went off with that man? Who was he?’
‘I can’t say, must have been a pimp.’
‘Did it not occur to you to tell him to go and fetch me?’
‘When bad days strike, the mind stops working.’
‘Someone is coming.’
‘I’ll hide in the bathroom.’
‘Come, Bhabhi, why haven’t you gone to sleep yet? It must be ten already.’
Bhabhi: ‘I really wanted to see Basudev, brother. Has he gone off to sleep?’
‘Yes, he just cried himself to sleep.’
‘Did you find out anything about Maryada? But even if you did, what use will it be? A woman who has left her home is like a horse that has bolted from its stable. You cannot trust either.’
‘Why did I even take her for that holy bath!’
‘Strange twists, brother, strange. I’ll take your leave now.’
Maryada: (Coming out.) ‘Nothing strange about it; this is a trick. Under the guise of caring for Basudev, you wish to take over my household.’
‘Don’t talk rubbish! Where did the pimp take you?’
‘My lord, do not ask me this. I am too ashamed to speak about it.’
‘Well, you should have felt greater shame in coming here.’
‘With the Supreme Lord as my witness I swear that I did not let him touch me.’
‘Can you describe him?’
‘A short, dark-skinned man. Wearing a long kurta.’
‘Did he have an amulet around his neck?’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘He was the sweeper of the dharmashala. I had told him about your disappearance. That scoundrel used the information to lure you.’
‘He seemed like a Brahmin to me.’
‘No, he was a scavenger. Did he take you to his house?’
‘Yes, he put me on a tonga and took me to a small house in a narrow lane and said, “Sit here, your husband will come soon.” It was then that I realized I had been duped. I started crying. The man left after a while and an old woman arrived to try and tempt me with various offers. I spent that entire night weeping. The next day they both tried to make
me understand that I could die crying but no one would come to help me. You have lost one home, they said. But we will give you another, a better one where you will eat the best food and become rich. When I realized that there was no way for me to get away from there, I decided to use my wiles.’
‘I have heard enough. Let me accept what you are saying, that you protected your womanhood. But my heart loathes you. You can now never be to me what you were in the past. This house no longer has a place for you.’
‘My husband, do not do this injustice to me, I remain the same wife to you. Just think, what will become of me?’
‘I have thought of everything and taken a decision. I have been thinking about this for the last six days. You know very well that I do not fear what the society thinks. I have already discarded the notions of untouchability, bid farewell to the gods and goddesses, but it is impossible for me to accept a woman who has been looked upon by strange eyes and who has wandered about God knows where and in what state for seven days. If this is injustice, then God be my witness, I am not to blame.’
‘Do you not pity my helplessness at all?’
‘Where there is disgust, how can there be pity? I am still ready to look after your daily needs. As long as I live you will not want for food or clothing. But you cannot be my wife.’
‘I would not look upon the face of my child had I been touched by another.’
‘Your spending even a moment alone with another man is enough to destroy your chastity. This is a unique relationship. If it exists then it is for several lifetimes, but if it breaks then that happens in a moment. You tell me, if a Muslim person forced me to partake of his leftovers, would you accept me?’
‘That . . . that . . . would be a different matter.’
‘No, it is the same thing. When it is a relationship of feelings, then arguments and logic do not work. In fact, if someone were to even tell you that the sweeper has touched your drinking water you would feel ill while trying to drink it. Think—am I being just with you or unjust?’
‘I would not have eaten food that was touched by you. I would have stayed in a separate room, but I couldn’t have asked you to leave our home. You are taunting me because you are the lord of the house and you think that you are providing for me.’