The Complete Short Stories

by Premchand

  It was the rainy season. The rivers and drains were in spate. The officers went on their rounds even in the midst of rains. They were only concerned with their allowances. How much it afflicted the poor was none of their business. I had to go on a tour regarding a case. I had assumed that I would return home by the evening, but as the rivers were swollen, instead of reaching by ten, I reached in the evening. The judge was waiting for me. The case was presented before us, but by the time the arguments were over, it was nine o’clock. What can I say about my condition? In my heart, I wanted to tear into the judge. Sometimes, I felt like tugging at the beard of the opponent lawyer who had contrived to drag the debate for such a long time; at other times, I wanted to break my head. I should have made plans for such a contingency. After all, the judge was no slave of mine to do things according to my wishes. I could neither sit nor stand. Small-time drinkers can’t even imagine my plight.

  However, the case got over by nine. But where would I go now? It was a rainy night and there was no sign of human beings for miles around. To reach home was not only difficult, but impossible. There was no village in the neighbourhood where one could procure the elixir. Even if there was a village, who would go there? A lawyer was no constable that he could order people about to run late-night errands. I was in great torment. The clients had left, so had the spectators and the workmen. The opponent lawyer had not only dined with the Muslim peon, but had also found a place for himself in the veranda of the Dak Bungalow. What was I to do? My life was slowly ebbing away. Sitting on the verandah on a sack cloth, I cursed my fate. Sleep eluded me. I could neither forget this pain nor lose myself in the arms of sleep. There was rage, too, at the sight of the other lawyer sleeping soundly as if he were sleeping in the comfort of his in-laws’ house.

  Here I was in such a plight, and there I could see the Sahib Bahadur finishing one peg after the other. The sweet melody of the pouring of wine reached my ears and made my heart restless. I could sit no more. I inched furtively towards the chik and peeped inside. Ah! What a life-giving sight that was! The sun-scorched beauty looked resplendent in all her glory—decked with ice and soda water in a white crystal glass. My mouth watered automatically. If someone had taken my photograph at that moment, he would have won hands down in his bid to compete for the perfect image of greed. The sahib’s face reflected a ruddy glow, his eyes were red too. He was sipping away alone and humming an English tune. While he was luxuriating in this heaven, I was rotting in hell. Many a time, I felt a keen desire to walk up to the sahib and ask for a glassful. But I was afraid that there would be no one to listen to my wails if instead of alcohol, I got kicked out.

  I kept standing there till his meal got over. After having a sumptuous meal and drinks, he summoned the butler to clear his table. The butler was dozing off under the table. When he came out with the plates, he was startled to see me. I quickly tried to reassure him—‘Do not worry, it’s just me.’

  The butler said in surprise, ‘Is that you, Vakil Sahib? Have you been standing here all this while?’

  ‘I was just curious to see how these people eat and drink. He drinks a lot.’

  ‘Oh! Don’t even ask about it. He polishes off two bottles in a day. He drinks twenty rupees’ worth of liquor every day. When he is on a tour, he keeps a minimum of four dozen bottles with him.’

  ‘I too have this habit but I couldn’t get any today.’

  ‘Then you must be in great distress.’

  ‘What to do, there are no shops around here either. I thought the case would get over early and I would return home. That is why I came without any provisions.’

  ‘I am addicted to opium. If I don’t get it for a day, I go mad. It’s like this—people who have an addiction wouldn’t care if they got nothing else, as long as they can indulge their addiction. They have no worries even if they don’t get food for three days.’

  ‘I am in the same boat and I am suffering. I feel as if there is no life in me.’

  ‘Huzoor should have carried at least one bottle with him. You could have put it in your pocket.’

  ‘Yes, that was my mistake, otherwise why would I cry?’

  ‘Sleep wouldn’t come to you—’

  ‘What of sleep? My life hangs in my mouth . . . I don’t know how I am going to spend the night.’

  I wanted the butler to suggest some plan to quench the raging fire within me so that I didn’t have to feel embarrassed. But he was a shrewd fellow. He just said, ‘Take Allah’s name and shut your eyes, sleep is bound to come.’

  ‘No, sleep will not come. Yes, I might die. Does the sahib count his bottles? Does he actually keep a count?’

  ‘Arré! Huzoor, he is very shrewd. If he does not finish a bottle, then he puts a mark on it. Dare a single drop be lost!’

  ‘That is a big problem. I just need a glassful, just enough to make me fall asleep. I will give you any reward you ask.’

  ‘You will of course give me a reward but I am afraid that if he so much as gets a whiff of this, he won’t leave me alive.’

  ‘Come on, yaar, don’t test my patience any more.’

  ‘My life is at your disposal, but let me tell you, one bottle costs ten rupees. Tomorrow I’ll have to get a servant to replace the missing bottle.’

  ‘I am not going to drink a full bottle, no way.’

  ‘Take it along with you, sir. If he finds half a bottle lying with me, he will get suspicious immediately. He is very suspicious. He sniffs my mouth to see if I have had a gulp or not.’

  I had received twenty rupees as my fee for the day’s work. It hurt me no end to part with half my day’s earnings, but there was no other way out. I quietly took out ten rupees and handed it to the butler. He got me a bottle of English liquor, some ice and soda. I opened the bottle right there in the darkness and proceeded to quench my parched soul with this nectar.

  How was I to know that fate had other designs for me, that it was planning to serve me poison instead?

  4

  What can one say about the sleep induced by alcohol? I had finished almost half the bottle of whisky. I kept sleeping till late in the morning. Only when the sweeper came at eight o’clock did my eyes open. I had hidden the bottle and the glass next to my head with my umbrella. I had placed my gown on top of it to cover it up. As soon as I woke up, my eyes turned towards the pillow. There was no sign of either the bottle or the glass. My heart skipped a beat. I looked out for the butler thinking he might have taken it away. I got up with this thought and walked towards the back of the Dak Bungalow, to the servant quarters. But I couldn’t dare move further when I viewed the heart-chilling scene there.

  The sahib had seized the butler by his ears. The bottles of alcohol were lined up. The sahib would count the bottles one by one and ask the butler where the missing bottle was. The butler answered, ‘Your Majesty, let god strike me dead if I have done any bungling.’

  ‘Am I lying then? Weren’t there twenty-nine bottles?’

  ‘Master, I swear by God, I have no idea how many bottles there were.’

  The sahib slapped the butler several times. Then he shouted in Hindustani, ‘Tum gine, tum na batayega, to hum tumko jaan se maar dalega (You did count them. Tell me, otherwise I’ll kill you). Nobody can touch me. I am an officer and all officers are my friends. I shall kill you right now unless you tell me where the missing bottle is.’

  I was half-dead with fear. After a long time, I seemed to remember God. I remembered Govardhandhari and said, ‘Now, my honour is in your hands. God, only you can save me otherwise my boat is going to drown midway. He is an Englishman after all. God knows what problems he can create. Please seal the butler’s lips, take away his voice, you have come to the rescue of the worst of sinners and criminals. You were the one who saved Ajamil. I am a sinner, the sinner of sinners. Please tide me over. If I can save my skin this time, I will never even lift my eyes to look at alcohol.’

  Even ghosts are frightened by the rod of punishment. I was conscious at every moment a
nd feared this proverb would prove to be true. What if the butler opened his mouth? I would be a dead man! I was not as scared of losing my post, or being framed in a false case or even of being humiliated by the judge as much as I was of being the target of the judge’s kicks. What if he were to chase me with a whip? It is not that I am a weak person. In fact, physically, I am quite well built and can stand my ground. I have won several prizes for games in college. Even now in the two rainy months, I do dumbbells. However, at that moment, I was trembling with fear. My moral strength had already abandoned me. A thief does not have any power—my honour, my future, and my life hung on just one word from the butler’s mouth, just one word. Whose life could be so weak, so precarious and so outworn?

  I was making promises to myself, not the fake promises made by drunkards, but a real, truthful and firm promise, that if I were saved this time, I would never drink again. I doubled this up with a very intense vow in order to shield my heart from all sides, in order to close the gates to any evil arguments. But all in vain! It was no help at all. Neither Govardhan nor Nrisingh took any heed. They came only in the satyug. The pledge did not help nor did the vow improve matters. All that was fated for me, good or bad, had to happen. Destiny did not consider my promise adequate enough to fortify my resolve.

  The butler stood by his word. He got slapped, pushed around, had his beard tugged, but he didn’t utter a word. He was indeed a truthful and courageous man. Even I, perhaps, wouldn’t have been able to stand my ground under similar circumstances. Perhaps I would have blurted out everything with the first slap. The deep fear I was nursing of him proved to be completely unfounded. Till the day I live, I am going to sing praises of that brave soul.

  But I got struck by lightning from an altogether different quarter.

  5

  When the beating and slapping did not produce any results, the sahib took him by the ears and dragged him towards the Dak Bungalow. When I saw them approaching, I rushed towards the veranda and sat down trying to pretend that I knew nothing. The sahib presented the butler to me. I also stood up. If someone had cut my heart open at that moment, he wouldn’t have found a drop of blood.

  The sahib asked me, ‘Well, Vakil Sahib, do you drink?’

  I couldn’t deny that.

  ‘Did you drink last night?’

  I couldn’t deny that.

  ‘Did you take alcohol from my butler?’

  I couldn’t deny that.

  ‘Did you hide the bottle and glass under your pillow after drinking?’

  I couldn’t deny that. I had been afraid of the butler spilling it all out, while doing just the same myself.

  ‘You know that this amounts to stealing?’

  I couldn’t deny that.

  ‘I can get you suspended, your licence could be seized, and you’d be sent to jail.’

  It was true, indeed!

  ‘I can kick you and nobody can touch me.’

  This too was true.

  ‘You black man, you think you are a lawyer! And you sent my servant to steal alcohol for you. But your punishment shall be of your choosing. What is it that you want?’

  I said to him trembling, ‘Your Majesty, I beg your pardon.’

  ‘No, name the punishment.’

  ‘Whatever you think I deserve!’

  ‘Okay, then that will be done.’

  After saying this, that cruel demon summoned two guards and had both my hands tied. I kept standing there in dumb silence with my head bowed in the manner of a guilty student waiting to be caned by the teacher. What punishment had he decided to give me? I hoped he wouldn’t pinion me or make me do sit-ups. There was no hope of any help from the gods, but I had no other option than to invoke the invisible powers.

  Leaving me with the guards, the magistrate went to the office and from there he emerged with stamp ink and a brush. Tears had started flowing from my eyes. I felt deeply humiliated and all for a little liquor! That too after paying double the price!

  The sahib painted my face black. The colour was so dark that I would need to use up several bars of soap to scrub it off. I kept standing there, tail between my legs. Those two angels of hell also felt no pity for me. They were my countrymen, but I was suffering this sorry plight at their hands. Surely we will gain independence at this rate!

  The sahib kept laughing as he painted my face black. He didn’t leave a spot of clear space except for the eyes. I was being turned into an ape for a few drops of wine. In my heart, I was thinking that as soon as I leave this place, I am going to sue the rascal for my loss of honour, or else I would get some hooligans to beat him up with shoes in the court precincts itself.

  After turning me into an ape, the sahib released my hands and clapping his hands, he ran after me. It was nine o’clock. All the people—the staff, lawyers and clerks—had gathered around. There were hundreds of people there. I don’t know what struck me all of a sudden, but I ran from there. It was the most pathetic sight in the entire scene of my ridicule. I was running ahead and behind me the Englishman and hundreds of onlookers were chasing me, clapping in glee and shouting, ‘Catch him, let him not get away.’ It was as if they were chasing a monkey.

  This running went on for a mile at least. Thanks to the fact that I was an athletic person, I made good my escape, otherwise God alone knows what would have happened to me. Maybe they wanted to make me ride a donkey. When I had left them behind at a distance, I sat near a stream. I was out of breath. If someone had come there, I would have pelted stones at them. But I did not try to wash my face in the drain. I knew that the ink would not go with water alone. I kept on thinking about how I was going to file a suit against the judge. Of course, I would have to suppress the fact that I had stolen alcohol from his butler. If this came to light, I would fall into a trap instead. What harm could there be in hiding this? I would furnish some other reason for the enmity, but sue I must.

  Where to go? Who should I show this blackened face to? O horror! If the rascal had to put black paint, couldn’t he have used ash or the black in the lamp? At least it would have rubbed off. Whatever insult I had to suffer would have remained confined to the particular episode. Now it appears as if I myself am trumpeting the news of my misdeeds. Anyone else in my place would have drowned himself in humiliation.

  The only relief was that I had not met anyone on the road as yet. What would I have told him if was asked how I had got my face blackened? When my weariness diminished somewhat, I got thinking about how long I would sit there. Come on; let me make an effort and see if the ink will wash off. I started scrubbing my face with sand. I found that the ink was rubbing off. Nobody can imagine the exhilaration I felt at that moment. My morale picked up from there. I scrubbed my face so hard that in many places, the skin came off. But however intense the pain it seemed nothing in front of the urgent need to get rid of the black paint. Even though my head was uncovered, and I was wearing just a kurta and dhoti, it was nothing compared to the humiliation I had undergone. My gown, achkan and turban had got left behind in the Dak Bungalow. I was not worried about them. At least the black had come off.

  But even though the paint had left me, it inflicted deep scars on my psyche. Many days have passed since this incident. For five years, I haven’t touched a drop of drink let alone made a mention of alcohol. Perhaps Providence had devised this trick to bring me back to the right path. No argument, reason or method would have had such a radical influence on me. Looking at the good turn, I can only say that whatever happened happened for the best. That is how things should have happened, but every time I remember what I went through, I lose sleep.

  Why should I now spin out my tale of woe? The readers can guess this on their own. The news spread far and wide, but instead of feeling embarrassed and ashamed, I thought it wiser to act shamelessly. I would laugh at my folly and relish recounting unhesitatingly the tale of my misery. Of course, I was cunning enough to add bits from my side. For example, I would say that on that night, when I became intoxicated, I walked into
the sahib’s room with my glass and pounded him thoroughly with a chair. This addition would bring some relief to my oppressed, humiliated and deadened spirit. What transpired in my heart, the heart alone knew.

  My greatest fear was that this news would reach the ears of my dear wife. She would have felt very hurt. I don’t know if she ever heard about it or not, but she never mentioned it to me.

  Translated from the Hindi by Nandini Chandra

  Rescue

  1

  The system of marriage in Hindu society has become so distorted, worrisome and fearful that no one knows how to reform it. Indeed, parents who would happily welcome the birth of a girl child even after the birth of seven male progeny are rare. From the moment a girl child is born her parents begin to worry about her marriage and the peace of the family is lost. The situation has become so desperate that there is no dearth of parents who heave a sigh of relief at the death of a daughter. The only reason for this is that the amount of dowry one is expected to pay is increasing by leaps and bounds, much like the current of a water stream during the rainy season. Earlier, one spent in the range of a few hundred rupees, now it has reached the range of thousands. Not so long ago only rich families spent one or two thousand on dowry. Marriages in ordinary families could be managed between five hundred to one thousand rupees. But nowadays, even very ordinary marriages cannot be organized for less than three or four thousand rupees. While expenses have increased, the educated classes are getting impoverished. Only God knows where it will all end.