The Complete Short Stories

by Premchand

  ‘No, I met him at the railway station yesterday when I got off the train.’

  ‘Then go get him. Let bygones be bygones.’

  Saying this, Indranath ran towards the house. In a minute, Gokul’s mother called him indoors.

  Gokul’s mother looked at him from head to toe and said, ‘Were you sick, bhaiya? Why do you look so crestfallen?’

  Gokul’s mother gave him a lota full of water and said, ‘Wash your hands and face, son. Gokul is all right, I suppose? Where were you all these days? How many times I have prayed for his return! Why has he not come?’

  Indranath said, washing his hands and face, ‘I did suggest that he should come but he didn’t out of fear.’

  ‘Where was he all these days?’

  ‘He said he was roaming around in the villages.’

  ‘So, you have come alone from Bombay?’

  ‘Not really, Amma has also come with me.’

  Gokul’s mother asked with some hesitation, ‘Maani is in a good place, isn’t she?’

  Indranath smiled and said, ‘Yes, she is in great bliss now. She is free from all earthly bonds.’

  His mother said in disbelief, ‘Don’t be naughty now. Are you cursing the poor girl? But tell me, why have you come back from Bombay so soon?’

  Indranath said with a smile again, ‘What could I do? I got a telegram from Mataji saying that Maani had jumped off the train and ended her life. Her body was lying in Laalpur. I rushed there. That’s where I performed the cremation and other rites. I returned home only today. Please forgive my offence now.’

  He could say no more. Tears welled up and choked his throat. He took out a letter from his pocket and kept it in front of her and said, ‘I found only this letter in her box.’

  For a long time, Gokul’s mother sat in speechless anguish, gazing at the floor. Grief and more aptly repentance had overpowered her senses. She picked up the letter and started reading it.

  Swami!

  When you get this letter in your hands, I will be gone from this world. I am very unfortunate. I have no place in this world. Because of me, you too will be in trouble and be condemned. I thought about it and decided that it is best for me to die. How do I reciprocate the compassion you have showered on me? I had never desired anything in life but I regret not dying at your feet. My last request to you is that you do not mourn for me. May God always keep you happy.

  His mother kept the letter aside and tears started flowing from her eyes. Vanshidhar stood in the veranda motionless, as if Maani stood before him, in all her modesty.

  Translated from the Hindi by Neerja M. Chand

  The Path to Hell

  1

  As I was reading the scripture Bhaktmal, I fell asleep. What kind of devotees were they for whom their love for God was everything? They remained completely immersed in it. Such devotion is acquired only after great ascetic fervour. Am I not capable of such devotion? What other bliss is there in this life of mine? Those who love ornaments find them valuable. As for me, the very sight of jewels is a torment to my eyes; those who value wealth and property die for it, but the very name of wealth causes utter rage in me. Yesterday that stupid Sushila decked me up with such delight; with such affection she braided flowers in my hair. I tried hard to stop her but she didn’t listen. And what I was afraid of is what finally happened. For all the time I had spent laughing with her, I spent more time crying. Is there any other woman in this world whose husband burns with jealousy from head to toe when he sees his wife well turned out ? Is there another woman who hears her husband say—‘You’ll ruin my afterlife, your demeanour suggests that’—and does not consume poison? God! What kind of men are there in this world! Finally I went downstairs and started reading the Bhaktmal. Now I will only serve Vrindavan Bihari, to him alone will I show my adornments. He will certainly not burn with jealousy when he looks at me. He knows the true state of my mind.

  2

  God! How do I control my mind? You are omniscient; you can feel the condition of each and every pore of my body. I want to look upon him as my lord and master, I want to serve at his feet, do whatsoever he wants me to do. I don’t want to do anything that will hurt him. He is not to be blamed. Whatever was written in my destiny has happened. It’s neither his fault, nor my parents’. The entire blame lies on my destiny alone. But despite being aware of all this, the moment I see him approaching, my heart sinks, my face turns deadly pale, my head becomes heavy. I don’t feel like looking at his face. I do not feel like speaking to him. Perhaps no one would feel as dismayed looking at one’s enemy—the way I feel looking at him. As the time of his return approaches, my heart begins to pound. If he ever goes out for a day or two, I feel lighthearted. I laugh, and speak as well; joy begins to descend into my life, but the moment I hear the news of his return, darkness spreads all around me! Why is this the condition of my soul? To me it seems that there was some enmity between us in our previous birth. It must have been to avenge himself that he married me in this birth. These old beliefs are still deeply ingrained in us. Why else would he burn with envy looking at me and why would I hate the very sight of his face? This is not what marriage is supposed to mean. I was so much happier at my parents’ house. I could have happily stayed there till the last breath of my life. A curse be upon this tradition of marriage, which compels parents to tie their unfortunate daughters to some man or the other. What does this society know of the countless young girls who are weeping because of it? So many young hearts undulating with dreams are being trampled under its feet. For young, tender girls the image of a husband is a source of so many sweet desires. The word husband embodies all that is best in a man: ideal, noble, good-looking. When this living image of such a virtuous husband comes into the mind of a young woman, it assumes a life of its own. But for me what does this word symbolize? A spike that comes and penetrates my being, the thorn that perpetually pricks my heart, a piece of grit that irritates my eyes, the penetrating innuendo that pierces the insides of my soul! Sushila is always laughing. She never complains about her poverty. She has no ornaments, no clothes—she only has a small rented house and she does the entire domestic work herself; still I never see her crying. If I could, I would have exchanged all my wealth with her poverty. When she sees her husband returning home with a smile, all her sorrow and misery disappear as if by magic, and her mind is filled with happiness. The joy, the bliss that emanates from an embrace of love . . . I could give away the wealth of all the three worlds for this one drop of love.

  3

  Today I could not control myself. I asked him—what made him marry me? This question had been disturbing me for months but I had so far restrained myself. Today the container overflowed. He got really flustered by my question and, trying to distract me, put on a grin and replied, ‘To manage the household, to take on the household responsibilities . . . what else, for sex and lust? Without a woman this house seemed like the dwelling of ghosts. The servants used to squander away the wealth of the house. Things remained unattended wherever they lay. There was nobody to take care of them.’ So now I realized that I had been brought here to look after the house as a watchman. I must guard this house and feel privileged about owning all this wealth. The main thing is the wealth; I am merely its watchdog. May this house catch fire today itself. Till now I used to look after this house unwittingly, perhaps not as much as he expected but at least as much as my own discretion guided me. But from today onwards I take a vow that I will never touch anything on any account. I know very well that no man marries to merely procure a guard for his house and this gentleman had uttered these words to spite me. Sushila is right, without a woman he must have found his house desolate, just as one finds a cage desolate without a bird. This is the fate of us women!

  4

  I do not know why he suspects me so much. Ever since destiny has brought me to this house I have seen him casting glances full of aspersions towards me. What is the reason? If I get my hair braided he is annoyed. I do not go anywhere, and
I do not visit anyone . . . still so much suspicion! This humiliation is unbearable. Do I have no value for my honour? Why does he consider me to be so frivolous, doesn’t he feel ashamed of doubting me? When a one-eyed man sees people laughing, he invariably believes they are laughing at him. Perhaps he too has developed this delusion that I am deliberately mocking him all the time. Often when we trespass our limits this is precisely the condition of our mind. A beggar cannot sleep peacefully sitting on the throne of a king. He will only see enemies all around him. I feel this is the condition of all those old men who marry young women.

  Today on Sushila’s insistence I was going to see Thakurji’s janki. Now a man with reasonable intelligence can understand that dressing up like an uncouth person will only make me a laughing stock. But God knows from where at that very moment you landed up and asked me reproachfully, ‘Where are you off to?’

  ‘I am going to see Thakurji’s janki,’ I told him. He frowned and retorted, ‘There is no need for you to go anywhere. The woman who has not served her husband will only accumulate sin instead of blessings by worshipping the deity. You are trying to fool me. I know you women very well.

  I was furious. What could I say? At that very moment I changed my clothes and vowed that from now on I would never go for darshan. Is there no limit to this suspicion? I don’t know why I stayed back. The right answer to his attitude would have been to walk out of the house at that very instant, and then seen what he would have done to me!

  He is surprised to see me sad and unhappy. In his heart he considers me ungrateful; he thinks he has bestowed a great favour on me by marrying me. Being the owner of such a huge property and such tremendous wealth I should have been excessively happy and I should have sung his praises throughout the day. But instead of singing his praises I look morose. Sometimes I feel pity for him. He cannot understand that lack of love can totally wreck a woman’s life.

  5

  For the last three days he has been sick. Doctors say there is no hope of his surviving—he has pneumonia. But I do not know why I feel no sorrow for him. I was never so hard-hearted. God knows where my tenderness has disappeared. At the very sight of a sick person my heart would melt with compassion. I couldn’t bear to hear anyone cry. And now even though I’ve been hearing him groan in the room next to mine for the past three days, forget tears welling in my eyes, I have not been to see him even once. I feel that I do not have any connection with him. People may call me a witch or a whore but I have not the slightest shame in stating that I am feeling a strange kind of malicious joy because of his illness. He had imprisoned me. I do not want to attribute to it the sacred name of marriage—this is merely imprisonment. I am not so generous as to worship the man who has kept me in a prison, to kiss the feet that kick me. I believe that God is punishing him for his sins. Without any shame I state that I am not married to him. A woman doesn’t become a married woman just because she has been tied to someone. That union can only attain the status of marriage when at least once the heart brims over with love. I can hear the gentleman blaming me entirely for his illness. But this does not bother me. Whosoever wants it can take the entire property, the entire wealth; I have no need for it.

  6

  It’s been three days since I have become a widow. At least that is what people say. People can say what they like, it is not going to change what I think of myself. I did not break my bangles. Why should I? I never used to fill my maang with sindoor, even now I don’t. The last rites of the old man were performed by his son. I stayed away. At home people pass all kinds of remarks, looking at my braided hair some turn up their noses, and seeing my ornaments, some smirk, but who cares? Just to tease them I wear colourful saris, I adorn myself, and I do not feel even the slightest bit sad. I have been liberated from the prison. Now I visit Sushila’s house often. A small house, no decoration, no furniture, not even a single bed and yet Sushila is so happy. Looking at the radiance that surrounds her, all kinds of desires begin to surface in me as well. Why should I call them base when my mind does not consider them to be base? There is so much enthusiasm in their life. Her eyes are constantly smiling, a sweet smile spreads on her lips and her voice seems to be dipped in sweetness. With this joy, no matter how momentary it may be, life becomes meaningful, and then no one can erase this experience. One can live one’s entire life with its memory.

  One day I asked Sushila, ‘If your husband were to go away to some distant land wouldn’t you die of grief?’ Very seriously, Sushila replied, ‘No, sister, I will not die, his memory will always keep alive the radiance in me, even if he remains in that distant land for years together.’

  I too seek such love, my mind longs for this pain of love. I too want this very memory, which can make the strings of my heart vibrate, whose intoxication will forever engulf and surround me.

  7

  Night passed and tears changed into convulsive sobs. I do not know why my heart was filled with so much agony. My life seemed to stretch before me like a huge barren land, where there were only thorny bushes and no green pastures. The silence of the house haunts me; my mind is so restless that I want to fly away somewhere. These days I do not even feel like reading devotional scriptures. Nor do I feel like going out for a walk; I am unaware of what I even want. But what I do not know every pore and fibre of my being knows. I am the most animated, pulsating embodiment of my emotions. Every single part of my body is an expression of my innermost pain and anguish.

  The restlessness of my mind has reached the outermost state, where a person is neither ashamed of slander nor afraid of it. Those greedy, selfish parents who pushed me into this well, that stone-hearted man who enacted the role of putting sindoor in my maang—evil and wicked curses surface again and again towards them from the depth of my heart. I want to put them to shame. By disgracing myself I want to disgrace them. I want to kill myself in order to get them punished for killing me. My tender femininity has receded into the background and in its place a raging flame is burning.

  Everyone at home was sleeping. I went downstairs stealthily, opened the door and stepped out of the house, like a person who is absolutely agitated because of extreme heat and rushes out of the house and runs towards an open space. I was feeling suffocated in the house.

  There was dead silence on the road—the shops had closed. Suddenly I saw an old woman approaching me. What if she is a witch, I thought. The old woman looked me up and down and said, ‘Who are you waiting for?’

  ‘For death,’ I answered in vexation.

  ‘Destiny has great bliss in store for you. The dark night has passed; in the sky one can see the light of the dawn breaking.’

  I laughed and answered, ‘Is your sight so sharp that even in such darkness you can read the lines of destiny?’

  The old woman replied, ‘I do not read with my eyes, but with the power of my mind. This hair of mine—it has not grown grey in sun. Your bad days are past and your good days are approaching. Do not laugh, daughter, my life has passed doing only this work. It is because of this old woman that the girl who was going to drown herself in the river is now sleeping on a bed of flowers; the one who was about to drink poison is now rinsing her mouth with milk. For this very reason I walk the nights, to seek and help any unfortunate woman. I do not ask anyone for anything. By the grace of God I have everything. My only desire is that I should be able to help as much as I can. Those who desire wealth should get wealth, those who desire a child should have one, that’s all. What else should I say? I give the mantra that fulfils what a person desires.’

  I said, ‘I neither want wealth nor a child. You can’t fathom my heart’s desire.’

  The old woman laughed. ‘I know what you desire, daughter. You are in search of that, which though is found in this world, belongs to the heavens, which is even more blissful than the boon of gods. It is the wonderful flower of heaven, it is the most inconceivable, unobtainable fig of heaven, it is like the night of the full moon in the fortnight of the waning moon. But in my mantra ther
e is power with which you can change your destiny. You are a seeker of love—I will put you on a boat in the ocean of love which will take you to your desired destination.’

  I asked eagerly, ‘Mother, where do you live?’

  ‘My house is very close. If you are willing, then I welcome you with my whole heart to follow me.’

  She felt like some Goddess who had descended from the sky. I began to follow her.

  8

  Ah! That old crone whom I had believed to be a Goddess from the sky proved to be a demoness from hell. I was completely destroyed. I, who was in search of nectar, found poison instead. I was thirsty for pure, unadulterated love. Instead I fell into a filthy, noxious drain. I was not destined to get what I was looking for. I yearned for the kind of bliss that Sushila enjoyed, not sensuality or promiscuity. But in life when one begins to walk on the wrong track it becomes difficult to return to the right path.

  But I am not responsible for my degenerated state. The responsibility of my plight rests on the shoulders of my parents and on that old man who wanted to be my lord and husband. I would not have written these lines but I am writing them with this thought in mind that after reading my life story, people may become a little more aware. I again state, do not seek wealth, do not seek property, do not seek families with a noble lineage for your young daughters, only seek a good man. If you are unable to find an appropriately aged mate for your daughter, then let her remain unmarried, kill her by giving her poison, strangle her, but do not compel her to marry a decrepit old man. A woman can endure everything. She can endure the most terrible, heart-rending, agonizing pain; what she cannot endure is the death of her most beautiful, youthful dreams. As for me, I have no hope left in this life of mine. Yet I will not exchange this base existence with what I have left behind.