by Premchand
‘That is not it. I have not fallen so low.’
‘So, is this your final decision?’
‘Yes, final.’
‘Do you know what the result of this will be?’
‘I know and know not.’
‘Will you let me take Basudev?’
‘Basudev is my son.’
‘Will you let me caress him just once?’
‘No, I would not want that, but if you wish, you can look upon him from afar.’
‘Then forget it, I’ll not look at him. I’ll tell myself that I am a widow as well as barren. Let’s go, my heart. Now this house can no longer care for you. Let us go wherever fate leads us!’
Translated from the Hindi by Chandana Dutta
Despair
1
Some men get annoyed with their wives because they bear only daughters and not sons. They are aware that the woman is not at fault in producing daughters and if at all she is, then only as much as them. Yet, every now and again, they behave sullenly, pronounce her ill-fated and persistently wound her sensibilities. Nirupama was one such unfortunate woman and Ghamandilal Tripathi was one such cruel man. Nirupama had borne him three daughters one after the other, so she had fallen in the estimation of all the members of the family. She was not particularly worried about the disappointment of her parents-in-law, because they had a dated outlook, and believed that girls were burdensome or that their births were due to sins committed in previous lifetimes. But yes, she was saddened by her husband’s dissatisfaction, who, despite being an educated man, constantly passed acrimonious personal remarks. He seldom expressed any love for the children. He never had a kind word for her, stayed away from home for days together and if he did come back, it was with such a disdainful demeanour that Nirupama shuddered at the thought of him losing his temper any moment. There was no dearth of riches in the household but Nirupama could never summon up the courage to express a desire to acquire even a commonplace article. She believed that she was indeed unfortunate, otherwise why would God cause only daughters to be formed inside her womb? She longed for her husband to smile at her pleasantly or to say something sweet, but that was not to be. So eager was she to please him that she also became cautious about displaying her affection for her daughters—for fear that people would accuse her of arrogance despite having possession of, as the saying goes, merely a brass nose ring. When it was time for Tripathiji to come home, she would remove their daughters from his sight under some pretext or the other. The biggest problem was that Tripathiji had threatened to leave the house and go away if yet another daughter was born—he would not reside in such a hellish house for another instant. This threat had been very disquieting for Nirupama.
She observed the Tuesday fast, went waterless on Sunday, observed the Ekadashi fast and who knows how many more? The bath followed by the puja was a daily routine but the performance of neither rite nor practice seemed to grant her heart’s desire. Owing to the constant indifference, censure, contempt and insults heaped upon her, she had begun to lose interest in worldly matters. How could she not tire of her life in a house within which her ears longed to hear a sweet word, her eyes to behold a countenance full of love and her heart yearned to be folded in a warm embrace?
One day in a state of extreme hopelessness, she wrote to her elder brother’s wife. Every word was steeped in agonizing torment. Her sister-in-law replied: ‘Your brother will soon come and take you away. These days a truly great mahatma is visiting; it is believed that his benediction is never given in vain. Several childless women have been blessed with sons after receiving his blessings. I have faith that you too will be blessed with a son after receiving his benediction.’
Nirupama showed the letter to her husband.
Tripathiji replied gloomily, ‘It is not possible for mahatmas to decide the gender of the child, only God can do that.’
Nirupama: ‘True, but mahatmas too are capable of some miracles.’
‘Yes, they are, but visiting such mahatmas will not yield any benefit.’
‘I will go and pay my respects to this mahatma.’
‘You may go.’
‘If barren women could be blessed with sons, am I worse off than them?’
‘I have given you permission to go. So you may see for yourself. As for me, I feel that we are not destined to behold the countenance of a son.’
2
Several days later, Nirupama went to her paternal home, accompanied by her brother. Her three daughters went with her. Her sister-in-law welcomed her with a warm embrace and said, ‘The men in your family are very shallow. Despite having such pretty young girls, they weep over their destiny. If you find it difficult to look after them, you may give them to me.’
Having had their meal, Nirupama and her sister-in-law went in to rest.
Nirupama asked, ‘Where does the mahatma live?’
‘Why are you in such a hurry? I will let you know.’
‘He lives close by, doesn’t he?’
‘Very close indeed. I will send for him whenever you wish.’
‘Is he very pleased with all of you?’
‘He has both his meals here. He lives here.’
‘How can you die if the vaid lives in the house? Let me pay my respects to him today.’
‘What will you offer him as a gift?’
‘What am I worth to offer him a gift?’
‘Give him your youngest daughter.’
‘Come on, you’re insulting me!’
‘All right, if not that then you will let him embrace you lovingly just once, won’t you?’
‘Bhabhi, if you pull my leg like this, I will go back!’
‘This mahatma is quite a pleasure-seeker.’
‘Then he can go to blazes! He must be a wicked man!’
‘You will receive his benedictions only on this condition. He does not accept any other offering.’
‘You’re talking as though you are his deputy.’
‘Yes, only after consulting with me does he decide upon all his strategies. I take the offerings. I give the blessings and I have my meals by his side.’
‘Then why don’t you admit that you have played a trick in order to call me over?’
‘No, but while we are with him, I will advise you about a few things so that you can live comfortably at home.’
After this, the two friends began to talk softly among themselves, as though strategizing a game plan. When her sister-in-law stopped talking, Nirupama asked, ‘And what if a girl is born yet again?’
‘So what? At least for a few days your life will have been spent peacefully and contentedly. Nobody will be able to snatch away those days from you. If a boy is born then it would be an unparalleled situation. If a girl is born, we will have to re-strategize. We will be able to survive only if we employ such tactics with your family, which comprises of utterly foolish people.’
‘I am not certain whether the plan will work.’
‘Write to Tripathiji after about two or three days, informing him that mahatmaji has blessed you with an endowment. God willing, you will immediately begin to enjoy the self-respect and esteem due to you. The conceited people will come at once and be at pains to give you the best they can. At least for about a year you can live peacefully. After that, we will see what we can do.’
‘Won’t I be sinning against my husband if I pull the wool over his eyes?’
‘It is virtuous to be deceitful to such selfish people.’
3
Nirupama returned home after about three or four months. Tripathiji had gone over to bring her back. His wife’s sister-in-law sang praises of the mahatma in no mean terms. She said: ‘Nobody has known the mahatma to bless without receiving the profit of his blessings. But yes, nothing can be done about one who is utterly doomed.’
Actually, Tripathiji had always been contemptuous of the power of benedictions and blessings. Besides, nowadays, it was also quite embarrassing to believe in all this mumbo jumbo; nevertheless he felt touche
d by what his sister-in-law had to say.
Nirupama’s family began to shower a lot of attention on her. When she was in the family way, everybody began to look up to her with renewed enthusiasm. Her mother-in-law, who never had a kind word for her and cursed her every now and then, began to treat her with a great deal of indulgence. ‘Daughter, let it be, I will cook the food. You will get a headache.’ When Nirupama was about to lift a basin full of water or a charpoy, she would run across to her and exclaim, ‘Bahu, let it be. I’m coming. You should not lift anything heavy. It is different with daughters—they are not affected by anything, but boys are affected by the ache even while they are inside the womb.’ Now, Nirupama was fed milk so that the boy would be healthy and fair. Tripathiji became obsessed with purchasing clothes and jewels for her. Every month he bought something new. Nirupama had never had it so good in all her life. Not even when she had been a young bride.
The months began to pass. Bodily signs indicated to Nirupama that she was carrying a girl yet again but she remained quiet about the perception. She thought to herself, How can one trust the monsoon sunshine? Let me make the most of it before the clouds gather. Every now and again she became grumpy. She had never been so self-willed. Nobody ever seemed to utter a word of dissent because they did not want to hurt her for fear that the boy would suffer the consequences. Sometimes, Nirupama would throw tantrums only to test the patience of her people. She had begun to enjoy bothering them. She thought to herself, The more I exasperate you selfish people, the better! You respect me because I will give birth to a son who will carry forward the name of your family. I mean nothing to you; the boy is paramount. I am of no consequence; whatever importance I receive is because of the child. And this is my husband! He used to love me deeply earlier; he didn’t care about worldly, materialistic things. Now all his expressions of love are merely selfish and farcical. I am like the cattle that is well-fed because of the milk it yields. All right, so be it! Right now I can twist you round my little finger! I’ll have you make me as many ornaments as I please. You will not snatch these away from me. Will you?
Ten months passed like this. Both of Nirupama’s sisters-in-law were invited to their paternal home from their respective husbands’ homes. Gold ornaments had been made for the child; a fine-looking milch cow was purchased; Tripathiji bought a small pushchair to take the child out for leisurely walks. The day Nirupama began to feel the labour pains, a panditji was called to ascertain the auspicious moment. The chief huntsman was called to fire gunshots to herald the birth of the boy and singing women were gathered to sing joyous songs. News was sought at every instant about the impending birth. A lady doctor was also sent for. A band of musicians was waiting for the good news to be announced. Even the sarangi player sat with his instrument, ready to sing ‘The mother feels honoured, the child is like Nandlal’. All the preparations, all the desires, all the enthusiasm . . . in fact, the entire programme was ready to burst into an excited celebration in anticipation of just one word. The more there was a delay in the birth of the child, the more eagerly the people waited for the news to be broken. In order to cover up his eagerness, Tripathiji sat composedly reading a newspaper, as though for him sons and daughters were alike. But his elderly father was not so composed. His excitement was quite evident; he was absolutely delighted. He laughed aloud as he spoke with everyone and kept tossing a bagful of money playfully again and again.
The chief huntsman spoke up, ‘This time I will take cloth for a turban from the master.’
Pitaji responded excitedly, ‘How many turbans will you take? I will give you so many invaluable ones that you will actually lose your hair over them.’
The sarangi player said, ‘This time I should ask sarkar to provide me with some means of sustenance.’
Pitaji responded excitedly, ‘How much will you eat? I will feed you so much that you will burst.’ Just then, a servant woman came out of the labour room. She looked a little worried. Before she could utter a word, the chief huntsman fired a gunshot. Hardly had the gunshot been fired when the rest of the company burst into song and the pamar too began to prepare himself for a dance.
‘Arré, have all of you had bhang?’ asked the servant woman.
‘What has happened?’ asked the chief huntsman.
‘What has happened? It is a girl once again,’ replied the servant woman.
‘A girl?’ asked Pitaji, and sat down heavily, as though struck by a thunderbolt. Tripathiji came out of the room and addressed the servant woman, ‘Will you go and ask the lady doctor? Go and ascertain once again. She has neither seen nor heard anything but has set out making claims of her own accord.’
‘Babuji, I have seen the child with my own eyes!’
‘Is it a girl once again?’
‘Beta, it is our fate! Go away, all of you! None of you was destined to receive anything so how can you get it? Get away. Hundreds of rupees have been lost; all the preparations have been reduced to nought.’
‘One should question this mahatma. I will dispatch a letter today itself.’
‘Fraud, this is fraud!’
‘I’ll make sure I cleanse him of all his fraudulence. I will beat him with a rod till I have broken his head for him. The wretched outcaste that he is! All because of him I have lost hundreds of rupees. To whom shall I give this stroller, this cow, this cradle and all these gold ornaments now? How many people he must have swindled in this manner! He should be given a sound beating once and for all. That will set him right.’
‘Beta, he is not at fault; our own fate is to blame.’
Tripathiji: ‘Why did he claim that this would not happen then? How much money must this impostor have extorted out of women? He will have to confess everything, else I will have him handed over to the police. The law provides punishment for cases of extortion too. I had a hunch earlier that he was after all, an extortionist, but my sister-in-law cheated us too, else I am not one to be taken in by the tricks of such scoundrels. He is an utter swine.’
‘Beta, have patience. Whatever has happened is God’s will. Sons and daughters are all God’s gifts; we have three, so we can have one more.’
Father and son kept talking in this manner. The sarangi player, the chief huntsman and the rest of the company gathered their wares and went their respective ways. The household was engulfed in a gloomy silence; the lady doctor was sent off; nobody remained in the room of Nirupama’s lying-in except for the midwife and Tripathiji’s mother. The aged mother-in-law was so depressed that she took to her bed.
Twelve days after the birth of the child, Tripathiji went over to his wife and said to her fiercely, ‘It is a girl once again!’
‘What can I do? How can I have a say in this?’
‘That sinful scoundrel has played a mean trick on us.’
‘What can I say now? Maybe it is not my destiny. Babaji is surrounded by many women all the time. Had he taken any remuneration from anyone, I could have called him a scoundrel; but I can swear I haven’t paid him any money.’
‘Whether or not he took anything from you, I have been looted. I know for sure now that I am not destined to have a son. If the familial name has to be lost, how does it matter whether it is lost today or ten years later? I will go away somewhere now; there is no happiness in looking after a family.’
For a long time he stood there cursing his own fate but Nirupama did not so much as lift her head.
Once again, Nirupama stood face-to-face with the same old predicament; the same old jibes; the same abuse; the same disrespect; she was in the same mess as before; nobody cared whether she had eaten anything at all or not; whether she was well or ailing; happy or sad. Tripathiji did not go anywhere but he often threatened Nirupama with this outcome. When several months passed by like this, Nirupama put pen to paper to inform her sister-in-law that she had actually got her into more trouble. ‘I was better off before. Now, nobody bothers to ask whether I am dead or alive. If this state of things continues, I will surely give up this world and
pass away, whether or not Swamiji takes sanyas.’
When Bhabhi received this letter, she was able to gauge the state of things as they stood. This time, she did not call Nirupama over, for she knew that her family would not send her. Instead, she made a trip along with her husband. Her name was Sukeshi. She was a very outgoing, intelligent woman who took great delight in merriment. On seeing the baby girl in Nirupama’s lap, she immediately remarked, ‘Arré, what’s this?’
Her mother-in-law said, ‘It is destiny, what else?’
Sukeshi remarked, ‘What kind of destiny? She must have forgotten to observe mahatmaji’s exhortation. It is not possible that whatever he pronounces does not come to pass. Tell me, did you observe the Tuesday fast?’
Nirupama replied, ‘All the time. I did not miss out on any fast.’
‘Did you feed five Brahmins every Tuesday?’
‘He never said that.’
‘Of course he did! I remember very clearly that he stressed on it. You must have thought no good can come of feeding Brahmins. But it did not occur to you that no undertaking can be realized successfully unless all the requirements are observed in totality.’
Her mother-in-law butted in, ‘She never made any mention of this. And what are five Brahmins anyway? I would have fed ten of them! We have the means, by God’s grace.’
Sukeshi remarked again, ‘It is nothing. She merely forgot. That is all. Dear woman! One is not destined to behold a son’s visage that easily.’
‘She is unfortunate. That is all,’ said her mother-in-law.
Tripathiji: ‘Were these extraordinary things that they could not be remembered? She wants to torment us.’
Mother-in-law: ‘I kept thinking to myself about how the mahatma’s word did not come to pass. For seven years I lit a lamp for Tulsi Mai before a son was born.’
Tripathiji: ‘She had thought that bearing a son was as natural as the fruition of rice or pulses in the fields.’