The Complete Short Stories
Page 63
If parents have even a dozen male children, they do not worry. They do not think that their marriages will put a burden on them. It is not a ‘compulsory’ subject for them but an ‘optional’ one. If possible, they’ll get them married, or they’ll say—go, fend for yourself, and get married if you can afford to. It is not considered a blot on the family if a boy’s character is not good. But a daughter has to be married, there’s no running away from it. If there’s a delay in the marriage and the girl takes a misstep, then the whole family is disgraced. It is made an outcast in the society. If the girl can hide her transgression skilfully, then nothing will happen. No one will dare sully her name. But if, unfortunately, she cannot hide it and it comes out into the open, then her parents and her relatives cannot show their faces to others. No humiliation is more unbearable than this, no calamity more terrifying.
The irony is—those who have already faced difficulties at the time of their daughter’s marriage forget them at the time of the marriage of their sons, and do not show the slightest sympathy for the girl’s family. In fact, they are determined to extract more from the girl’s family than they had spent. Countless parents die a premature death worrying about their daughters’ marriages, many others renounce the world by taking sanyas, some marry their daughters to old men and thus get rid of them. They cannot afford to judge whether the groom is good or bad.
Munshi Gulzarilal was one such hapless father. His economic condition was not too bad. He was a lawyer and earned about two hundred and fifty rupees a month. He was from the genteel class and had a generous disposition. So he couldn’t save much from his income. He was a generous host to his relatives and friends. God had given him several sons, so he had to spend money on their upkeep and education. He spent liberally on the marriage of his first daughter. But the marriage of his second daughter became a messy affair. It was necessary that the marriage be negotiated with a good family, or people would make fun of them. But marrying into a good family meant an expense of at least five thousand rupees. The girl was growing taller by the day. She ate the same food as the boys, but while the boys looked sickly, she grew bigger and bigger like the waxing moon. After much running around, Munshiji heard about a well-educated boy. His father worked in the excise department at a monthly salary of four hundred rupees. Gulzarilal said to his wife, ‘We’ve got a boy from a good family. But the problem is—the boy doesn’t want to marry. His father and others have tried to persuade him; I also did my bit. But he’s not budging an inch. Says he’ll never marry. I can’t figure out why he hates marriage so much. He doesn’t give any reasons. Simply says it’s his wish. He is the only son of his parents. It is their greatest desire that he should get married, but what can they do? Well, they have accepted our gift of fruits, but made it clear to me that the boy is obstinate. If he doesn’t agree they’ll return the gift.’
‘Didn’t you ask the boy in private?’ his wife asked.
‘I did. He just kept sitting before me and crying. Then he got up. What can I say? I fell at his feet. But he just left the place without saying anything.’
‘Wait and see. How much we’ll have to suffer for this girl!’ his wife lamented.
‘Nowadays, boys are not serious. One reads in English books that many people in Europe like to stay unmarried. They are obsessed with the idea that peace and happiness in life is ensured if one remains unattached. Marriage brings with it all kinds of problems. When I was in college I too believed that I’d stay alone and enjoy myself.’
‘It’s true, actually. Marriage is the root of all problems. If you hadn’t married you wouldn’t have faced these problems. I’d have lived in peace too if I had stayed unmarried.’
2
After a month the bridegroom wrote the following letter to Gulzarilal.
Esteemed Sir
Sincere greetings!
I’m writing this letter to you today in the midst of a mental dilemma. Please forgive my audacity.
Since you left our house, both my parents have been pressurizing me to get married. My father is annoyed with me while my mother keeps crying. They feel that I’m running away from marriage out of sheer obstinacy. They have also started thinking that I may have lost my character. I’m scared of telling them the actual reason because it will be a shock to them which might prove fatal. That is why I want to reveal to you the secret I’ve been harbouring in my mind for so long. I request you earnestly to keep it a secret and not to reveal it to them under any circumstances. What is bound to happen will happen. But I don’t want to drown them in sorrow as long as I can help it. For the last five or six months I have suspected that I have tuberculosis. All its symptoms are becoming apparent. Doctors too have the same opinion. I have shown myself to the two most experienced doctors here. Both of them are of the opinion that I have tuberculosis. If I tell this to my parents they will die crying. When I know that I am going to be in this world for a short while only, it is sin for me to even think of marriage. It is possible that if I take all the precautions I may live for one or two more years. But that’ll be very risky in my situation because if there are children then they too will be infected and die a premature death. My wife may also catch the infection from me. If I stay a bachelor, my decision will affect only me. If I marry, the lives of several people will be ruined. That is why my request to you is not to bind me in this bond. If you do, you’ll only regret it later.
Yours obediently,
Hazarilal
Gulzarilal read out the letter to his wife and asked, ‘What do you think of this letter?’
‘It looks as though he’s making it all up,’ his wife said.
‘Of course. I’m of the same opinion. He thinks people will leave him alone if he makes up such an excuse. He can’t be sick. I saw him, his face was glowing. It is pretty obvious when one is actually sick.’
‘Take God’s name and just fix the marriage. No one can read anyone’s fate anyway.’
‘I’m also thinking along these lines.’
‘Or show the boy to a doctor. If he really is afflicted with the disease then poor Amba will be left high and dry.’
‘Are you crazy? This is merely an excuse. I know very well how these lads think—he’s enjoying his life now and that once he gets married, it will all come to an end.’
‘Then prepare to send the lagan at an auspicious hour.’
3
Hazarilal was in a dilemma. He was being forced to wear the shackles of marriage and he couldn’t do a thing about it. He had shared his secret with his prospective father-in-law, but no one believed what he said. He couldn’t muster enough courage to let his parents know about his ailment, thinking of the impact it would have on their minds and what they might do as a consequence. He toyed with the idea of sending testimonies from some doctor to his father-in-law, but what if his father-in-law didn’t believe that either? It was not at all difficult to get fake testimonies from doctors. ‘He must have paid some doctor to write the testimonies for him,’ he’d think. He wanted to marry, but the doctors had opined that if he married, his lifeline might be weakened. Instead of months, he might die in a matter of days.
The lagan had arrived. Preparations for the wedding were afoot. Guests were visiting. But Hazarilal stayed away from the house most of the time. Should I run away from home? His heart came to his mouth at the thought of marriage. What’ll happen to the poor girl? he wondered. What will she think of me when she gets to know about my ailment? Who will atone for this sin? No, I shouldn’t inflict this pain on the helpless girl. I won’t push her to widowhood. What’s the worth of my life? I’m going to die—if not tomorrow then the day after. Then why don’t I die today? Why shouldn’t I put an end to my life and all the worries and consequences today itself? Father will cry, mother might die, but a girl’s life will be saved. My death will not leave any helpless orphan behind.
Let me go and tell my father. He’ll be sad for a few days, Ammaji will give up food for one or two days out of shock, but let that be.
It’s no small matter if a woman’s life is saved at the cost of my parents’ afflictions for a short while.
It was ten in the night. Babu Darbarilal was lying on the cot, smoking his hookah. Today, he had spent his entire day running from one place to another. He had reserved the tents, paid an advance to the bandwalas and arranged for the fireworks. He had also negotiated with the Brahmins for hours. Right now, he had just stretched himself out to rest when he got startled seeing Hazarilal before him. He looked at his son’s fallen face, his tearful eyes and his pale expression and said, somewhat worried, ‘Why Lalu, are you all right? You look a bit sad.’
‘I want to say something to you; but I’m afraid lest you get displeased.’
‘Oh, now I understand. It’s that same old thing, isn’t it? If you have something else to say, then go ahead.’
‘I’m afraid that’s the only matter I want to talk about.’
‘So it is the old rant—don’t bind me in this bond, I’m unworthy of it. I can’t bear this burden. The fetters will snap my neck and so on and so forth? Is there anything new?’
‘Oh yes. It’s something new. I’m willing to carry out your order by all means. But there is something that I have concealed from you until now. I want to make a clean breast of it. After that, whatever you decide, I’ll carry it out with utmost obedience.’
Hazarilal revealed the facts with utmost humility. He also gave an account of the doctor’s opinion and said at last, ‘I’m sure you won’t compel me to marry in such a situation.’
Darbarilal looked intently at his son’s face. There was no yellowish tinge on it. He couldn’t believe his son’s account. But he pretended to remain absorbed in deep thought so that he could conceal his distrust and express his heartfelt sorrow. He said in a pained voice, ‘Son, it’s all the more necessary to marry then. God forbid that we should live to see that unfortunate day. But if you marry, at least there will be someone to continue your family line. If God blesses you with a child, he’ll be the sole support of our old age. We’ll console our hearts by repeatedly looking at his face. At least there’ll be some purpose to our lives. Then who can say what may happen next? It isn’t as if the doctors know about anyone’s destiny. God’s powers are infinite. Doctors can’t comprehend it. You just relax and let us do what we are doing. If God wills, everything will turn out to be all right.’
Hazarilal didn’t reply. His eyes became moist and his voice choked. He returned to his room and lay down quietly.
Three more days passed by. But Hazarilal couldn’t take a decision. All the arrangements for the wedding had been made. The mandap had been erected in the courtyard. The gift baskets and the jewels had been kept in the chests. The matri puja ceremony had been concluded and the musical instruments created an uproar at the doorstep. The neighbourhood gathered around, listening to the instruments and running helter-skelter in joy.
Evening had fallen. The marriage party was to leave by the night train. The baraatis started putting on their clothes and jewels. Someone would get his hair trimmed by the barber and wish that his beard were shaved in such a way that there were no bristles anywhere. The old men would get their grey hairs plucked out in an attempt to look young. Soaps, oils and cosmetics were used profusely. Hazarilal was standing forlornly under a tree in the orchard and wondering what to do.
He had to take a decision now. He couldn’t delay even a moment. There was no one with whom he could share his pains.
He thought of how short-sighted parents could be. They were swept away by their own desires. They didn’t even think about what would happen to the daughter-in-law. Her parents too were blinded by their own compulsions and they failed to see what was inevitable, pretended that it didn’t matter.
Is it a marriage? By no means. It’s like pushing the daughter into a well, throwing her into a bonfire or stabbing her with a blunt knife. No suffering could be as unbearable and heartrending as that of widowhood, and these people are throwing their daughter into this fire knowingly. Is this behaviour worthy of one’s parents? By no means. They are the enemies of their daughter. They are butchers and murderers. Is there no punishment for them? Is there no punishment for those who stain their hands with the blood of their dear children? The society doesn’t give them any punishment, no one tells them anything. Alas!
Hazarilal got up and left the place quietly. A peculiar pallor had overcast his face. He decided to put an end to this dilemma by sacrificing his life. He had no fear of death. He had reached the stage where all longings find their fruition in death.
No one saw Hazarilal after that. No one knew if it was the earth that swallowed him or the sky. Nets were cast in the rivers, wells were poked with long bamboo poles, his physical description was sent to the police, advertisements were brought out in newspapers, but all in vain.
After several weeks, some bones were found on the road about a mile away from the Cantonment railway station. People surmised that Hazarilal committed suicide by throwing himself before the train, but no one could be sure.
4
It was the occasion of Teej in the month of Bhadon. A cleaning operation was going on in the houses. Housewives, nicely decked up, were going to take the ritual bath in the Ganga. Amba had returned after her bath and was invoking God by standing before the tulsi tree. This was her first Teej in her husband’s house; she’d kept the vow devotedly. Suddenly her husband came in, looked at her with smiling eyes and said, ‘What is this fellow Munshi Darbarilal to you? A gift has arrived for you for Teej. The postman delivered it a little while ago.’
Saying this he placed a parcel on the bed. Amba’s eyes became moist the moment she heard Darbarilal’s name. She bent to pick up the parcel and stared at it for some time, but she didn’t have the courage to open it. Her past memories rekindled and her regard for Hazarilal welled up in her heart. It was because of the sacrifice of that godlike man that she was now enjoying good days. May God grant him salvation. He was not an ordinary man but a deity who had sacrificed his life for her welfare.
Her husband asked, ‘Is Darbarilal your uncle?’
‘Yes,’ Amba answered.
‘This letter mentions Hazarilal, who is he?’
‘He’s Darbarilal’s son.’
‘Your cousin?’
‘No, he rescued me. He gave me a new life. He saved me from drowning in deep waters. He’s the one who blessed me with the good fortune that I’m enjoying now.’
Her husband felt as though he had remembered a long forgotten fact. ‘Now I understand. Really, he wasn’t a man but a God.’
Translated from the Hindi by M. Asaduddin
The Game of Chess
1
It was the reign of Wajid Ali Shah. Lucknow was steeped in a state of indulgence. Everybody—young and old, rich and poor—was immersed in luxury. If there were soirees of music and dance in some places, there were opium parties in others. In every sphere of life, enjoyment and revelry ruled. In politics and poetry, arts and crafts, trade and industry—everywhere—indulgence was becoming pervasive. The courtiers were obsessed with drinking, poets with the descriptions of love and longing, craftsmen with making gold and silver embroidery, artisans with earning a livelihood from kohl, itr perfume, cosmetic paste and oils. In short, the entire realm seemed to be in the thrall of sensual pleasures. No one knew what was happening in the world. They had no idea about the new discoveries in the world of knowledge and wisdom and how the Western powers were establishing their dominance. People wagered on partridge fights. If somewhere the game of checkers was set up and people raised an uproar at every move, at some other place a terrible combat of chess was on with contending armies ranged on both sides. The nawab’s condition was even worse.
Every day new tricks and prescriptions for sensual pleasures were being devised. So much so that when beggars were given money, instead of buying food they bought intoxicating stuff like opium and tobacco. The youth from the nobility visited courtesans to train themselves in wit and repartee.