The Complete Short Stories

by Premchand

  The Muslims harboured a grudge against Chaudhary Sahib. They felt that he had turned his back on his faith. How could they understand such a complex lifestyle? If he was a true Muslim why should he drink Ganga water? Why should he show respect and be hospitable to Hindu saints and ascetics? Why should he arrange for the chanting of Durga slokas? The mullahs plotted against him and plans to humiliate the Hindus were afoot. They finally decided to attack the temple on the day of Janmashtami and inflict a humiliating defeat on the Hindus. They would prove, once and for all, that it was silly for the Hindus to swagger around on the strength of Chaudhary Sahib’s patronage. After all, what could Chaudhary Sahib do? If he took the side of the Hindus he would be taught a lesson too. All his Hinduness would be knocked out.

  3

  It was a dark night. Janmashtami, the birth anniversary of Lord Krishna, was being celebrated at the temple. A toothless old man was singing dhrupad on his tamboura and the devotees were waiting with drums and cymbals for the song to get over so that they could begin their kirtan. The sweets vendor was preparing the prasad. Hundreds had gathered to watch the spectacle.

  Suddenly a group of Muslims arrived with sticks and started pelting stones at the temple. There was a commotion. ‘Where are the stones coming from? Who is throwing these stones?’ A few men stepped out of the temple and looked around. The Muslims pounced on them with their lathis. What else did the Hindus have in their hands besides drums and cymbals? Some of them sought refuge back in the temple; others ran in the other directions. There was tumult everywhere.

  Chaudhary Sahib came to know of the riot. He said to Bhajansingh, ‘Thakur, check out what this commotion is about. Ask these scoundrels to lay off. If they do not pay heed, serve them a few punches. But, mind you, no bloodshed.’

  Meanwhile, Bhajansingh was gnashing his teeth with growing impatience. Chaudhary Sahib’s order was like the answer to his silent prayer. Carrying his club on his shoulder, he rushed to the temple. The Muslims had created mayhem there. Chasing the Hindus many of the men had entered the temple and were indulging in vandalism.

  Bhajansingh went mad with rage. He bellowed and entered the temple and started beating the scoundrels. He was one against fifty, but he fought like a tiger! He vanquished all of them single-handedly. Blind with rage, he did not seem to care for anyone’s life. He felt as though some divine power was egging him on, and Lord Krishna himself was protecting him. Men are known to have performed impossible feats in the name of religion.

  After Bhajansingh’s departure, Chaudhary Sahib felt worried that he might spill someone’s blood and hurried to the temple. He witnessed the chaos that reigned there at the moment. Some were fleeing the scene with their lives, some lay there groaning and wailing. He wanted to call out to Bhajansingh when a man came running towards him and fell on the ground. Chaudhary Sahib recognized the person, and the world darkened before his eyes. He was Shahid Hussain—his son-in-law and sole heir.

  Chaudhary rushed forward and took Shahid in his arms. He called out loudly, ‘Thakur, come here . . . lantern . . . lantern! Oh, he is my Shahid!’

  Bhajansingh’s hands and feet froze. He took the lantern and came closer. It was indeed Shahid Hussain. His head was wounded and blood was gushing out.

  Smiting his head in anguish, Chaudhary said, ‘Thakur, you’ve snuffed out the light from my life!’

  Trembling all over, Bhajansingh said, ‘Master, God knows, I didn’t recognize him.’

  ‘I do not blame you. No one has the right to trespass on the temple of God. My only regret is that my family line has come to an end and that too by your hands! You’ve always risked your life to protect me. Now, God has chosen you as the means for my destruction.’

  Tears streamed down Chaudhary Sahib’s face as he said this. Thakur was overwhelmed by guilt and remorse. He would not have been so grief-stricken if his own son had died. Ah! To have brought about his master’s ruin! For whom he was ready to lay down his life! One who was not only his master but his God. He was ready to leap into fire at his mere suggestion! To have cut the roots of his family line! He’d turned out to be a snake hidden in the grass! He said in a choked voice, ‘Lord, there wouldn’t be a more unfortunate person than me. I will have to live with this disgrace.’

  Saying this, Bhajansingh pulled out his dagger. He wanted to wipe out the disgrace with his blood by thrusting the dagger into his chest. But Chaudhary Sahib leapt and snatched away the dagger from his hands. He admonished him, ‘What are you doing? Control yourself. Fate had this in store for me. It’s not your fault. Whatever has happened was God’s will. I would have forgiven you for taking my life with full knowledge of who I was if I had entered the temple and defiled the deity. There is no graver crime than insulting someone’s faith. God is my witness that even though my heart is being torn asunder and I feel that I won’t be able to bear this grief, I hold no grudge against you. Had I been in your place, I would have done the same, even if the victim were my master’s son. I know my family will taunt me, my daughter will cry for vengeance; the entire Muslim community will bay for my blood. I will be called a kafir and a heretic. One day, some fanatic young man may decide to kill me but I will not turn my face away from what is right. The night is still dark. Run away from this place at this very moment and hide yourself in some barrack in my estate. Look, some Muslims are coming this way. Members of my family are with them too. Run, run!’

  4

  For a year Bhajansingh kept hiding in Chaudhary Sahib’s area. He was wanted by the police, and the Muslims were also on the lookout for him. But Chaudhary Sahib managed to hide him from their prying eyes. He bore the taunts of the society, insults by his family members, hostility from the police and threats from the mullahs, but he refused to divulge Bhajansingh’s whereabouts. As long as he lived, he did not want to hand over such a loyal devotee to the ruthless guardians of the law. The barracks in his estate were raided several times, the mullahs tried to intimidate the servants in his household but Chaudhary Sahib kept hiding Bhajansingh in the same way he concealed his own good deeds.

  Bhajansingh was deeply grieved to see Chaudhary Sahib undergoing such troubles to protect him. His heart kept telling him time and again, ‘I must go to my lord and tell him to hand me over to the police.’ But Chaudhary Sahib just advised him to remain in hiding.

  It was winter. Chaudhary Sahib had gone on a tour of his estate. Nowadays he did not stay in the house much. This was the only way he could escape from the harsh words of his family. He had just finished his dinner and was lying down to rest when Bhajansingh entered his room and stood before him. His face had changed so much that Chaudhary Sahib was shocked. Bhajansingh said, ‘Master, I hope you are well.’

  ‘Yes, by God’s grace. You appear unrecognizable. Where are you coming from at this hour?’

  ‘Lord, I can’t stay in hiding any more. If you permit me, I will go and present myself at court. Whatever is destined will happen. I can’t bear to see you undergoing so much suffering because of me.’

  ‘No, Thakur, I can’t do this as long as I’m alive. I cannot throw you to the wolves. The police will manipulate the evidence to suit their ends and you will have to pay with your life. You have faced grave dangers for my sake. If I can’t do even this much for you, I will be the most ungrateful person in the world. Don’t bring up this subject again.’

  ‘What if somebody—’

  ‘Don’t worry about this at all. Nobody can touch even my hair until God wishes it. Now go, it is dangerous to stay here.’

  ‘I hear that people have stopped socializing with you.’

  ‘It is better to stay away from one’s enemies.’

  But the thought that had lodged itself in Bhajansingh’s heart did not leave. The meeting made his resolutions firmer. ‘He’s wandering from place to place because of me. There’s no one to take care of him here, to call his own. Shame on my life!’

  Early in the morning Bhajansingh reached the district magistrate’s bungalow. Sahib asked
, ‘Have you been hiding for so long at Chaudhary’s insistence?’

  ‘No, huzoor. I was scared for my life.’

  5

  Chaudhary Sahib was dumbstruck when he heard the news. Now what could be done? If Bhajansingh didn’t have a lawyer, it would be difficult to save him. If he pleaded for him, it would cause uproar in the Islamic world. Fatwas would be issued from all sides. The Muslims were determined to send him to the gallows. They had set up a fund and the mullahs had appealed to all Muslims from the mosques to contribute generously to the fund. People went door to door to make collections. The case now assumed the colours of a religious dispute. Muslim lawyers jumped on the bandwagon to gain publicity. They poured in from the neighbouring districts to participate in what had now become a jihad.

  Chaudhary Sahib resolved to defend Bhajansingh at all costs. In his view, Bhajansingh was innocent and Chaudhary Sahib was fearless when protecting the innocent. To fight the case well, he decided to leave home and stay in the city.

  For six months Chaudhary Sahib fought the case with all his might. He spent money like water and ran around like a whirlwind. He did things that were against his disposition and which he had never done before in his life. He pleaded with clerks, suffered egotistic lawyers, bribed officers and finally freed Bhajansingh. The news spread like wildfire in the district. There was a furore. Whosoever heard the story was stunned. This was nobility indeed! To risk everything to save his servant from the jaws of death!

  Yet, some Hindus and Muslims looked at this good deed from their communal lenses. The Hindus celebrated the court verdict while the Muslims felt annoyed. They felt that Chaudhary had acted against his faith. The Hindus thought that the opportunity to perform Chaudhary Sahib’s shuddhi ceremony to make him a true Hindu had come. The mullahs undertook religious preachings with a new zeal; Hindus also raised the banner of their association.

  Communal feelings heightened on both sides. Bhajansingh, too, lost his head in this overwhelming tide of religiosity. He had a volatile temperament and was easily provoked. He became the leader of the Hindus. He had not even offered a lota of water to Lord Shiva but now he was ready to take up cudgels to defend gods and goddesses. No Muslim could be found for purification, so they purified one or two tanners. Other servants of Chaudhary Sahib were affected too. Those Muslims who had never even looked at the mosque now offered namaz five times a day. The Hindus who had never peeped into the temple now performed sandhya twice daily.

  The number of Hindus in the village was larger. On top of that Bhajansingh was their leader, and everybody obeyed him. Earlier, even though the Muslims were lesser in number, they had dominated the Hindus because of the latter’s disorganization. This was no longer the case. Now that the Hindus were organized, how could a handful of Muslims hold their ground?

  Another year passed. It was Janmashtami again. The Hindus had not forgotten the humiliation inflicted on them the previous year. Clandestine preparations for a confrontation had been going on for some time. Devotees had started gathering in the temple since the morning. All of them had sticks in their hands; many had daggers hidden in their waistbands. It was agreed beforehand to stage some kind of provocation to get the Muslims to fight. Never before had a procession been brought out during this festival. Departing from this convention, a grand procession was planned this year.

  The earthen lamps had been lit. Evening namaz had started in the mosques. Just then the procession was taken out with much fanfare. Elephants and horses, flags and pennants, drums and other musical instruments—the entire paraphernalia was on display. With his characteristic swagger, Bhajansingh was leading the procession with the wrestlers of his akhada.

  They saw Jama Masjid before them. The wrestlers readied their sticks, and all of them became alert. The stragglers in the procession came closer to form a well-knit group. They whispered amongst themselves. The trumpets blew louder. The clarion call became shrill. The procession reached the mosque.

  Suddenly a Muslim came out of the mosque and said, ‘It’s our prayer time. Stop the drums.’

  Bhajansingh replied, ‘The drums won’t stop.’

  ‘You have to stop them.’

  ‘Why don’t you stop your prayers?’ Bhajansingh challenged him.

  ‘Don’t swagger on Chaudhary Sahib’s strength. We’ll teach a lesson you’ll never forget.’

  ‘You’re flexing your muscle on Chaudhary Sahib’s strength. We depend on our own strength. This is a religious matter on which there can be no compromise.’

  Meanwhile, some more Muslims stepped out of the mosque and requested the processionists to stop beating the drum; instead, the drumbeats grew louder. The situation worsened. A maulvi called Bhajansingh a kafir. Bhajansingh grabbed his beard. Pandemonium ensued. All those who fancied themselves as heroes jumped into the arena. Bhajansingh let out a clarion call and entered the mosque, the fight entering with him. It was difficult to say who won the battle. The Hindus said, ‘We chased them and beat them to a pulp.’ The Muslims claimed, ‘We gave them such a thrashing that they won’t dare come this way in future.’ But they all agreed on one thing and that was Bhajansingh’s daredevilry. The Muslims said that but for Bhajansingh’s presence, they wouldn’t have allowed a single Hindu to escape. The Hindus asserted that Bhajansingh was Lord Mahavir’s avatar, no less. His stick brought everyone to their knees.

  The Janmashtami festival was over. Chaudhary Sahib was smoking a hookah in his drawing room. His face was flushed, his eyebrows raised, and sparks of fire shot from his eyes. ‘The house of God has been defiled!’ This thought wrenched his heart.

  The house of God has been defiled! Wasn’t the field beside the mosque sufficient for those cruel men to fight in! So much bloodshed in the sacred house of God! Such denigration of the mosque! Both the temple and the mosque are God’s abodes. If Muslims are liable for punishment for profaning the temple, aren’t the Hindus accountable for the crime of defiling the mosque?

  ‘And Thakur is the perpetrator of this crime! He killed my son-in-law for the same offence. Had I known that he would do this with his own hands, I would have rather let him hang to death. Why would I have been so harassed, so defamed and so grief-stricken for him? He is a loyal servant who has saved my life several times. He’s always been ready to shed his blood for me. But today he has defiled the house of God and he must be punished for this. What is the punishment for this? Hell! There is no other punishment for him save the fires of hell. He made the house of God impure, disrespected God. He who violates God’s house denigrates God Himself!!’

  Suddenly, Bhajansingh appeared before him.

  Chaudhary Sahib looked at him furiously and asked, ‘Did you enter the mosque?’

  ‘Master, the maulvis had attacked us,’ Bhajansingh replied.

  ‘Answer me—did you enter the mosque?’

  ‘When they started pelting stones from inside, only then did we enter the mosque to catch hold of them.’

  ‘Do you know that a mosque is the house of God?’

  ‘I know, master. Wouldn’t I know that?’

  ‘The mosque is as holy as the temple.’

  Bhajansingh did not reply.

  ‘A Muslim who defiles a temple is to be punished with death. Similarly a Hindu who desecrates a mosque deserves the same punishment.’

  Bhajansingh found no reply to this either. He had never seen Chaudhary Sahib so angry.

  ‘You killed my son-in-law, but I defended you. Do you know why? Because I felt that my son-in-law deserved the punishment. Had you killed my son or me for the same crime, I wouldn’t have sought revenge. You have committed the same crime today. I would have been truly happy if some Muslim had killed you while you were in the mosque. But you escaped shamelessly from there. Do you think that God will not punish you for this act? God commands that whosoever disrespects him shall be punished with death. This is the duty of every Muslim. If a thief is not punished, does he cease to be a thief? Do you accept that you have been disrespectful towards God
?’

  Bhajansingh could not deny this crime. Chaudhary Sahib’s good counsel removed his intransigence. He said, ‘Yes, sir, I’ve committed this offence.’

  ‘Are you ready to accept the same punishment which you once meted out?’

  ‘I did not kill your son-in-law intentionally.’

  ‘Had you not killed him, I would have done it with my own hands, do you understand! Now I must take revenge for the blasphemy you’ve committed against God. Tell me, do you want it from my hands or from the court of law? The court will sentence you to prison for a period. I will kill. You are my friend; I don’t hold any grudge against you. No one except God knows how much this pains me. But I must kill you. My faith commands me to do so.’

  Chaudhary Sahib drew his sword and rose before Bhajansingh. It was a strange sight. An old man with grey hair, his back bent, was standing with a sword before a giant. Bhajansingh could have settled everything with a single stroke of his lathi, but he stood there with his head bowed. He respected Chaudhary Sahib deeply, though he had never suspected him to be such a religious person. He had assumed that Chaudhary Sahib was a Hindu in his heart. How could he think of causing harm to a master who had saved him from the gallows? He was fearless and like all truly brave men, he was without guile. At that moment he was not angry, but repentant. He didn’t fear for his life but was sorrowful for what he had done.

  Chaudhary Sahib stood before Bhajansingh. His faith dictated, ‘Kill him!’ His inherent goodness said, ‘Spare him.’ A conflict arose between these two impulses.