The Complete Short Stories

by Premchand

  Translated from the Hindi by Diamond Oberoi and Rajesh Gupta

  The Secret of Culture

  1

  I can think of one thousand and one things about this world that I don’t understand. For instance, why do men attack their hair with a razor the moment they get up early in the morning? Is it because men have now become such delicate creatures that they can’t bear the weight of their own hair? Another thing, why do almost all educated men suffer nowadays from poor eyesight? Is it because of the feebleness of the brain or some other reason? Why do people go to so much trouble to acquire titles? And so on. But none of these questions concern me at this moment. A new question has arisen in my mind, to which no one gives any answers. The question is—who is a ‘civilized’ person and who is not? What are the traits of a civilized man? On the face of it, this question seems extremely simple, one that even a child can answer. But if you think deeply, it’s not a simple question at all.

  If wearing a jacket and trousers, tie, collar and hat, sitting at a table to eat one’s meals, drinking tea or coffee a dozen times a day, or smoking a cigar while walking down a street are marks of a civilized person, then one would have to designate those white men walking the streets in the evenings as civilized. Badly drunk, with their bloodshot eyes, stumbling gait and harassing passers-by for no reason—can one really call them civilized? Never. So this much is proven: Being civilized is something quite different; it has more to do with the mind than the body.

  2

  Rai Ratankishore is one of my very few friends. He is a kind, generous, highly educated man who holds a prominent position in the government. But the handsome salary he draws is not adequate for his expenses. A fourth of it is spent in the maintenance of his bungalow. He is often seen worried about his finances. He doesn’t take bribes—at least I have no knowledge of it, even though people may talk. What I do know, however, is that he often goes on tours to augment his income. Every year, money reserved for other purposes in the departmental budget is diverted to meet his travelling expense. If his superiors quiz him about his excessive travels, he says that the nature of his work demands travel to the districts to maintain peace. However, it is interesting to know that Rai Sahib does not actually tour as much as his daily log book shows. His camp is usually set up at a distance of about fifty miles from the city. Tents are put up there and the subordinate officials live in them, while Rai Sahib stays at home entertaining friends. But no one dares cast aspersions on Rai Sahib’s good intentions! No one dares doubt his claim to being a civilized gentleman!

  One day I went to meet Rai Sahib. He was reprimanding his servant, Damrhi, a grass cutter. Damrhi was employed on a full-time basis but was allowed to go home to have his meals. He lived in a nearby village. For some reason, he had not reported for duty the earlier night, and he was being taken to task for it.

  ‘When we have employed you as a full-time servant, why did you stay at home last night? I’ll cut yesterday’s wages from your salary,’ said Rai Sahib.

  ‘Huzoor, there was a guest visiting us, so I couldn’t come,’ Damrhi replied.

  ‘Then ask your guest to pay you yesterday’s wages.’

  ‘Huzoor, it will not happen again.’

  ‘Shut up!’

  ‘Huzoor—’

  ‘You’ll pay a penalty of two rupees.’

  Damrhi left crying. He had come to pray for mercy but instead had a penalty slapped on him. A fine of two rupees! And the crime he had committed was that he had come to ask forgiveness for his fault!

  So this was the penalty for one night’s absence! He had worked hard all day. Only because he hadn’t slept here at night was he given this punishment. But those who sit at home and enjoy themselves on fake travel bills? There is no one to question or punish them. There should be punishment for such people, of a kind they remember all their lives. But it is difficult to catch them. If Damrhi had been cleverer, he too would have come back late at night and gone to sleep in his shed. No one would have known where he was earlier in the evening. But the poor man was not so clever.

  3

  Damrhi owned a total of six biswas of land, and he had six mouths to feed. His two sons, two daughters and wife worked all day long in the field but they could barely manage two square meals a day. Well, one couldn’t expect gold from that small patch of land! If all of them had left home and decided to work on wages, they could have led a better life. But a traditional farmer would be ashamed to be called a labourer. To save himself from this humiliation, Damrhi kept a pair of bullocks. A good part of his salary went towards buying fodder for them. He was ready to undergo all these hardships, yet he could not give up farming to become a labourer. Can a wage earner, even if he earns a whole rupee a day, ever equal the dignity of a farmer? It is not such a shame if one undertakes some casual labour on top of farming. The bullocks were tied at his door to maintain his honour. If he ever had to sell them, he would die of shame.

  One day Rai Sahib found Damrhi shivering with cold and said, ‘Why don’t you get warm clothes for yourself? Why are you shivering?’

  Damrhi said, ‘Sarkar, I can’t afford two square meals a day. Where can I get warm clothes?’

  ‘Why don’t you sell your bullocks? I’ve told you a hundred times. I don’t know why you refuse to listen to reason.’

  ‘Sarkar, I won’t be able to show my face to my people if I do so. I won’t be able to marry off my daughter. I will be made an outcaste.’

  ‘It’s this idiocy of yours that is the cause of your wretchedness. It’s a sin to show any mercy towards people like you.’ Then Rai Sahib turned towards me and continued, ‘Tell me, Munshiji, is there any cure for such madness? They’ll die of cold, but will insist on having the bullocks tied to their door.’

  I said, ‘My dear sir, this is the way they think, I guess.’

  ‘Well, then, I don’t care what they think. You know, for generations my family celebrated Janmashtami. Several thousand rupees would go down the drain every year. There was singing and feasting for several days. Invitations were sent to relatives all around. Clothes were doled out to the poor. Once my father died, I put an end to all that. What was the use of it all? The family was losing four to five thousand rupees every year. It created an uproar in our town. People made a lot of fuss—if some called me an atheist, others accused me of being a Christian. But who cares! The uproar subsided in a few days. It was a free-for-all before I took the reins. If there was a marriage in any household in the entire township, they expected firewood from my family. This tradition had continued for generations. My father, in fact, maintained it by purchasing trees from others. Wasn’t it sheer stupidity? I promptly put an end to this custom of giving wood for free. There was another uproar. Tell me, am I supposed to protect my own interests or listen to the complaints of others? Annually, I could save a minimum of five hundred rupees on wood alone. Now no one dares bother me with such demands.’

  Once again, a question arose in my mind. Who is the more civilized of the two—stupid Damrhi, ready to lay down his life for his family dignity, or Rai Ratankishore, ready to give up family honour for money?

  4

  An important case was being heard at Rai Sahib’s court. A nobleman had been accused of murder. Several people approached Rai Sahib for his bail. The bail had become a point of honour with the accused. The nobleman had made it clear to his lackeys that he was prepared to sell off his entire estate if he could wriggle free of that case without a stain on his character. Gifts were sent to Rai Sahib, people pleaded with him, but to no avail. The nobleman’s lackeys could not, however, muster enough courage to offer a bribe upfront. Finally, when nothing worked, the nobleman’s wife took the matter into her own hands and decided to meet Rai Sahib’s wife and strike a deal.

  It was ten o’clock. The two women started negotiating. The deal was struck at twenty thousand rupees. Rai Sahib’s wife was thrilled. She ran to her husband and said, ‘Take it, oh, do take it! If you don’t, I will.’

&nb
sp; ‘Hold your horses. What will she think of you? Do you not care for my honour? I agree the amount is large, and will at once free me from your daily call for luxuries, but you mustn’t make light of an officer’s honour. You should have shown her that you were offended by her suggestion and said, “How dare you suggest this! Get lost. I don’t want to hear such nonsense.”’

  ‘To be sure, that’s the first thing I did do,’ replied his wife. ‘I went into a rage and gave her a piece of my mind. Don’t I know how to act in such circumstances? The wretched woman fell at my feet and started crying.’

  Rai Sahib said, ‘You should’ve said that if you even mentioned it to Rai Sahib, he would chew you out.’ He hugged his wife in great excitement.

  ‘Rest assured, I said quite a lot, but she was not one to give up. She was crying herself to death.’

  ‘I hope you haven’t given her your word.’

  ‘Word? I’ve taken the money and tucked it away in the strong box. They were paper notes.’

  ‘How absolutely stupid! I don’t know when God will give you any sense, if ever.’

  ‘Doesn’t seem likely now! If He were going to give me any, He would have done it by now.’

  ‘Quite so. You didn’t even tell me; you just grabbed the money and locked it up. If anyone finds out, I’ll be ruined.’

  ‘Well, think about it then. If you feel it might get you into trouble, I’ll go and return the money.’

  ‘Once again, you’re being stupid. What was destined to happen has happened. Now I will have to depend on God’s mercy and grant bail to the fellow. Don’t you realize it’s like putting your finger inside a serpent’s mouth? You know all too well that I hate such things and yet you get impatient. I have to violate my principles because of your stupidity. I’d decided not to interfere with the course of the law, but your stupidity has pre-empted it.’

  ‘Let me go and return the money.’

  ‘And let me go and take some poison.’

  While the couple was indulging in this bit of play-acting, Damrhi was cutting some barley from the village headman’s field. He had gone home after taking leave for the night. He saw that there wasn’t a single straw for his bullocks to eat. Several days were still to go before pay day; there was no money to buy their fodder. His family had gathered some grass during the day to feed the bullocks, but that was like a drop in the ocean. The bullocks stood there, still hungry. At the sight of Damrhi they raised their tails and started bellowing. As he came closer, they started licking his hand. Damrhi felt his heart wrench but nothing could be done at that late hour. ‘Come morning, I’ll borrow money from someone and buy some fodder,’ he thought.

  But when he awoke at around eleven o’clock, he saw that the bullocks were still standing before their trough. It was a clear moonlit night and it seemed to Damrhi that both animals were gazing at him with imploring eyes. Tears welled up in his own eyes to see them starving. Bullocks are as dear to a farmer as his sons. He considers them not brutes, but his friends and helpers. Sleep left Damrhi’s eyes when he saw the bullocks standing there hungry. He thought for a moment, then picked up his sickle and went out in search of fodder.

  Barley and millet crops stood ready in the fields outside the village. Damrhi’s hands were shaking but the thought of his hungry bullocks pushed him to action. He could have cut several sheaves of the crop if he wanted, but he didn’t. Despite this pilfering he was not really a thief. He cut only as much fodder for his bullocks as was necessary for the night. He thought that even if somebody happened to see him, he would say that he had to do this for his starving bullocks. He was sure that no one would blame him for taking a little bit of fodder. He wasn’t cutting the crop with the intention of selling it, after all. No one could possibly be cruel enough to blame him. ‘If worse comes to worst, he might ask me to pay for it.’ He pondered deeply over his act and felt that the meagre quantity of the fodder would save him from any accusation of theft. A thief would have cut as much as he could carry on his head; he wouldn’t worry about another’s profit or loss. Had a villager noticed Damrhi taking away the fodder, he would certainly have been annoyed, but no one would have levelled charges of theft against him. But as luck would have it, the beat constable from the circle police station was passing by. He had got wind of a gambling den in the local trader’s house and was looking to make some bucks from the gamblers. When he saw Damrhi lifting the fodder on his head, he grew suspicious. Who was cutting a harvest so late at night? It might be some thief stealing the crop. He bellowed, ‘Who’s there carrying the crop? Stand still!’

  Startled, Damrhi turned to see that it was the police constable! He went limp with fright and stammered, ‘Huzoor, I’ve cut just a little. You can see for yourself.’

  ‘Little or a lot, it’s a case of theft. Whose crop is this?’

  ‘Baldev Mehto’s.’

  The constable had thought that he’d come upon a lucrative prey. But now his hopes were dashed. He caught hold of Damrhi and dragged him to the hamlet. But there too he drew a blank. So he took him to the police station where the station officer promptly pressed charges of theft against him. The case was brought to Rai Sahib’s court.

  When Rai Sahib saw Damrhi standing accused he felt no sympathy for him. On the contrary, he hardened his heart. ‘You’ve brought me infamy. This doesn’t make any difference to you? You’ll spend a couple of months in jail; I am the one who is embarrassed. People will say that Rai Sahib has got a bunch of crooks for servants. If you weren’t my servant, I’d probably have given you a lesser punishment. But as you are my servant, I will award you the strictest of punishments. I can’t have people thinking that Rai Sahib was partial towards his own domestic help.’

  True to his words, Rai Sahib sentenced Damrhi to six months of rigorous imprisonment. That same day he granted bail to the nobleman accused of murder.

  I heard both these accounts and came away convinced that civilization is the art of getting away with your misdeeds. You can commit the worst of crimes, but if you are able to camouflage it, you are civilized and urbane, a gentleman. If, however, you lack this art, you are uncivilized and boorish, a rogue. This, indeed, is the secret of culture.

  Translated from the Urdu by M. Asaduddin

  Temple and Mosque

  1

  Chaudhary Itrat Ali was the owner of a big estate, a jagirdar. During the colonial period, his ancestors had served the British in high positions. This estate or jagir was a reward for their past services. By his efficient management his property had increased in value and now there was no one equal to him in riches and fame. The English officials made it a point to meet him whenever they were on an inspection tour. But Chaudhary Sahib himself never went to greet any official, even if it was the commissioner. He totally avoided going to the court. He didn’t even attend any court sessions. He considered it inappropriate to stand with folded hands before officials and flatter them. He stayed away as far as possible from lawsuits, even if it meant incurring a financial loss. This job was left entirely to his attorneys, and he didn’t much care whether they won or lost the cases. He was a scholar of Arabic and Persian, followed the sharia very strictly, considered charging interest on money lent to anybody a sin, offered namaz five times a day, kept all of the thirty rozas and read the Koran every day. Despite being ardently religious he was not touched by sectarian parochialism. Taking a holy dip in the Ganga was his daily routine. Come rain or hail, he would walk two miles and be at the banks of the Ganga at five in the morning. While returning he would fill his silver flagon with water from the Ganga, and he always drank this water. He didn’t take any other water except this. Even a Hindu ascetic would not have so much reverence for the waters of the Ganga. Every seventh day his entire house was plastered with cow dung inside and out. Not only this, a pandit recited the sacred Durga slokas for the entire year in his orchard. The warmth with which he welcomed saints and ascetics was rare even amongst the kings. In short, his house provided daily hospitality to such holy p
ersonages.

  Food was cooked for the Muslim fakirs by the cooks in his own kitchen. More than a hundred people were fed at the community dinner each day. Even after so much benevolence he didn’t owe a penny to any moneylender. On the contrary, his prosperity grew by the day. He circulated a general order allowing the use of as much wood as was needed from the government-owned jungles for burning dead bodies or for feasts at sacrificial offerings or marriages. There was no need to ask Chaudhary Sahib. During the marriage of his Hindu tenants, there would be somebody or the other to represent Chaudhary Sahib. The amount he gave as a present was fixed. The amount of his contribution to the wedding of a daughter was fixed too. Besides elephants and horses from his stable, his canopy, tent, palanquin, carpets, fans, bedsheets and silver utensils were loaned to the people without any fuss. One merely had to ask for them. People were ready to lay down their lives for such a sagacious, kind and benevolent person like him.

  2

  Chaudhary Sahib had a Rajput chaprasi named Bhajansingh. This six-feet-tall, broad-chested young man wielded the club well and could fight a hundred adversaries single-handedly. He was a stranger to fear. Chaudhary Sahib had immense faith in him, to the extent that he even took him along when he went to Mecca for hajj. Chaudhary Sahib had no dearth of enemies. The zamindars of the neighbouring areas were jealous of his power and fame. They were scared of ill-treating their tenants because Chaudhary Sahib was always ready to take the side of the weak.

  When Bhajansingh was with him Chaudhary Sahib was not afraid even of sleeping at the enemy’s door. Many a time when he was surrounded by his enemies, Bhajansingh had risked his own life to get him out of the enemies’ clutches unhurt. He was ready to jump into the fire for his master’s sake. If he stepped out of the house alone on some errand, Chaudhary Sahib felt worried until he returned, lest he get into a brawl with someone. He was like a pet ram, ever ready to hit someone when freed from the leash. Only one person constituted his whole world and it was Chaudhary Sahib. You could call him a king, master or God— Chaudhary Sahib was everything to him.