The Complete Short Stories

by Premchand

  ‘Go ahead. I’ve already told you that I have served a sentence for theft . . . in the Nasik jail. I was physically very weak then and couldn’t do hard labour. Taking me for a shirker the jail officials would beat me mercilessly. Fed up, I finally escaped one day.’

  ‘You’re a dark horse, aren’t you?’

  ‘It was a neat escape . . . no one came to know. Even today there is a reward of five hundred rupees on my head.’

  ‘Then I’m most certainly going to have the police take you away.’

  ‘In that case I may as well disclose my real name to you. My name is Damodar Modi. The name I use now is a cover-up from the police.’

  The little boy had been quiet all this while. When he heard Miss Joshi mentioning the police he said, admonishing her, ‘Who can take my dada away?’

  ‘The police—who else?’

  ‘I’m going to beat up the police,’ the boy lisped.

  Running to a corner he fished out a toy gun and stationed himself near Apte in a protective stance.

  ‘Your bodyguard seems to be really brave.’

  ‘There’s a story behind this too. About a year ago, this boy had got lost. I found him loitering in the streets and asking my way around I somehow managed to bring him home to his parents. This family and I bonded so well that I started living with them.’

  ‘I’m sure you know what opinion I have of you after listening to your story.’

  ‘Yes, exactly what I am . . . an impostor, a charlatan and a cheat.’

  ‘You are being unfair to me once again. I can forgive you for being unfair the first time, but not for this. Anyone who can remain so pure, simple and straightforward despite living through such adverse circumstances is not human . . . he is superhuman. All the comments you made about me that day are true. As a matter of fact I am far more immoral than you can imagine. I dare not even look into your eyes. By showing me how noble you are you have brought me face-to-face with my own real self. Take pity on me, please forgive me.’

  With these words Miss Joshi fell at Apte’s feet. Helping her get up, Apte mumbled, ‘Miss Joshi, for God’s sake don’t embarrass me.’

  In a voice thick with emotion Miss Joshi said, ‘Please save me from these rogues and make me worthy of you. God is witness to how I pity myself at times. Time and again I try to break free of this trap of decadence that has come to envelop me completely but my willpower is not strong enough. It appears to be the result of the way I have been brought up. Acquiring a good education at the best of institutions made me contemptuous of the life of a housewife. The thought of living a life where any man would be superior to me was revolting. The concerns and responsibility of being a housewife seemed to come in the way of my intellectual freedom.

  ‘By drawing attention to my intellect I wanted to overcome the disadvantages of being a woman, and be free like men. Why should my life be controlled by someone else? Why should my aspirations and desires have to be compatible with someone else’s? Why should I give someone else the right to question my actions? In my eyes matrimony was rather contemptible. It wouldn’t be right for me to criticize my parents . . . may their souls rest in peace . . . but they were never there to give me the correct advice. My father was an academic and my mother, an illiterate person. Between the two of them there was constant fighting and bickering. Pitaji looked at his marriage to an uneducated woman as the greatest misfortune of his life. He would never tire of telling Ma that she had ruined his life, that she was a liability . . . had it not been for her, the sky would have been the limit for him. He felt that all the unhappiness in their lives stemmed from Ma’s lack of education.

  ‘Pitaji wanted to keep his only daughter away from the influence of his wife. If Ma ever said anything to me he would come down on her like a ton of bricks, “Haven’t I told you so many times to never scold the girl? She can think for herself. Your scolding her can really lower her self-esteem, don’t you realize that?” And so my poor mother gave up and left me alone, and finally died an unhappy woman.

  ‘Seeing the turbulence in my own home put me off marriage even more. Perhaps the strongest influence on me was that of my college principal, who was an unmarried lady. I’m now convinced that only sober, stable teachers should be given the responsibility of educating young college students. Wayward professors, with a weakness for the good things in life, have an undesirable effect on young minds.

  ‘I’m saying all these profound things to you over here, but I know I’ll forget them all the minute I reach home. The world I live in is totally polluted. There everyone wants to see me drenched in decadence; they have a vested interest in me living that life. You are the first man to have faith in me, to have behaved like a gentleman with me. For God’s sake, don’t forget me now.’

  Apte looked sympathetically at Miss Joshi, ‘I shall consider myself fortunate if I can be of any use to you. Miss Joshi, we are all human and none of us is perfect. We make mistakes and go astray either because of the circumstances around us or because of the way we are brought up. By changing our circumstances we can save ourselves but if we lose our values then things become more difficult. Your soul is pure and beautiful, it’s just circumstances that have enveloped you in darkness. Now that you are able to discern and think clearly, the dark clouds shall surely part and let the light in. But you have to be prepared to renounce all that is around you.’

  ‘You will have to help me.’

  Apte looked at her with piercing eyes and said, ‘Sometimes the doctor has to force the medicine on the patient.’

  ‘I’m prepared for everything. Even the most bitter medicine . . . if it is coming from you. Will you be kind enough to come to my house tomorrow?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  Miss Joshi was leaving now. ‘Don’t forget, I’ll wait for you. And bring your bodyguard along,’ she said, picking up the little boy in her arms and giving him a hug.

  Miss Joshi was on top of the world as she left. It felt as though she was treading on air. A thirsty, weary traveller had spotted an oasis at last.

  6

  The next morning Miss Joshi sent out invitations for the evening. A party was being organized in honour of Apte. Mr Johri smiled as he saw the invitation. There was no way that fellow could get away now. Miss Joshi had really done a good job. Well, it was her area of expertise, after all. ‘I’d thought this Apte would be smarter than this. But it appears these revolutionary types only know how to make grand speeches,’ Mr Johri said to himself.

  The guests started to pour in from four o’clock itself. Senior officials, rich industrialists, intellectuals and editors of leading newspapers arrived with their wives. Miss Joshi had adorned herself in her finest clothes and jewellery, and caused a stir in whichever group she moved. Delicious aromas wafted out of the bungalow as strains of soothing music filled the air.

  By five Mr Johri was there too, and shaking hands with Miss Joshi, he smiled and said, ‘I wish I could kiss your hand right here. Now I’m convinced that that fellow can’t escape from your clutches.’

  ‘Miss Joshi was born to play with men’s hearts,’ said Miss Petit.

  ‘I’ve heard Apte is an uncouth sort of a fellow,’ commented Mr Sorabji.

  ‘What else can you expect from someone who has never ever been to a university?’ quipped Mr Bharucha.

  ‘Let’s pull his leg while he’s here.’ Mrs Bharucha giggled.

  ‘I’ve heard he’s a non-believer . . . doesn’t follow any rituals either,’ Mahant Virbhadra’s voice was heard from behind his thick beard and moustache.

  ‘I too am a non-believer. I have no faith in any God,’ declared Miss Joshi.

  ‘That may be so, but you have converted any number of non-believers into believers!’ the Mahant said.

  ‘How right you are, Mahantji!’ Mr Johri laughed.

  ‘So, Mahantji, is it Miss Joshi who has turned you into a believer?’ Mrs Bharucha probed.

  At that moment Apte entered with the blacksmith’s son holding his hand
. He was dressed like anyone else in the room. The boy was equally well turned out. Looking at Apte that evening, people realized what a handsome man he actually was. With his head held high, he appeared a well-bred gentleman, born and brought up in these elite surroundings. Everyone watched him closely, waiting for him to make a mistake so they could ridicule him, hoping he would make a slip somewhere giving them an occasion to jeer at him.

  But Apte sailed through the evening with an almost professional ease. Each step he took, each gesture he made displayed his familiarity with the accepted social graces. Those who had till now looked at him condescendingly were suddenly envious of him. And so started a spate of bitter, cynical remarks. Much to the dismay of some, Apte seemed a master of witticisms too. Every lethal verbal attack directed at him met its match, but Apte’s responses were completely devoid of venom or malice. Each word he uttered was steeped in simplicity and honesty, and said in a manner that won over the heart of the listener. Miss Joshi was delighted with Apte’s wit.

  ‘Which university did you study in?’ asked Mr Sorabji.

  ‘If I had studied in a university I would have been heading the education department today,’ Apte replied.

  ‘I always thought of you as a dangerous creature,’ Mrs Bharucha confessed.

  ‘You’ve probably never seen me in the company of ladies,’ Apte smiled.

  Suddenly, Miss Joshi went into her bedroom and got rid of all her finery. There was a determination on her face while her eyes shone as though she were possessed by some divine power. She looked at her luxurious surroundings with revulsion, and got rid of her expensive clothes and jewellery. Putting on a clean cotton sari, which she had got for herself the same morning, she kicked her jewellery away.

  Seeing her in this new avatar sent shockwaves through the drawing room. What was happening? No one could believe their eyes except perhaps Mr Johri. Miss Joshi is up to her tricks again, he thought, this must be the latest ploy to further ensnare that man.

  ‘Friends! Do you remember the terrible things Apte said about me the other day? Today I want to punish him for his misdemeanours. Yesterday I visited him at his house and I have unearthed all his secrets. Apte, who roars like a tiger while addressing a rally, collapsed under a single move of mine. I’m not going to waste any more time in disclosing those secrets—you must be getting impatient. All that I have seen is so frightening that all of you here will feel faint just hearing about it. Now I’m convinced beyond doubt that this man is a rebel . . .’

  Mr Johri clapped his hands and the room echoed with the sound of everyone clapping in agreement.

  ‘But not a rebel against the state, he is a rebel against injustice, against oppression, against arrogance.’

  There was complete silence. Bewildered, people looked at each other.

  Miss Joshi continued, ‘Mr Apte has collected arms secretly and murdered . . .’

  Mr Johri clapped again and there was another round of applause.

  ‘But murdered whom or what? Grief, poverty, the people’s pain, blind faith and his own personal aspirations; this is what he has murdered,’ Miss Joshi said.

  There was silence once again while all the guests exchanged uncomprehending looks as if wondering whether to believe their ears or not.

  Miss Joshi went on, ‘Mr Apte has secretly looted and plundered, and continues to do so . . .’

  This time no one clapped; everyone waited with bated breath to hear what Miss Joshi had to say next.

  ‘In fact he has robbed me too, he has taken away all that was mine, to the extent that I am now without home and shelter and have no option but to seek solace at his feet. My lord and master! Let this wretched woman be with you, save me from sinking in this sea of depravity. I know you won’t disappoint me.’

  With these words, walking up to Apte, she fell at his feet. The entire gathering watched incredulously.

  7

  A week had now passed and Apte was in police custody. A case was being made against him and the entire province was in a state of turmoil. Huge rallies were held in the city every day and the police regularly rounded up a few demonstrators. The newspapers were engaged in hot debates over the issue.

  It was nine o’clock at night. Sitting at his table at the Raj Bhavan Mr Johri was contemplating ways to get Miss Joshi back. Since that day he had been consumed by jealousy and despite his best efforts he couldn’t stop thinking of Miss Joshi.

  He couldn’t believe that she had let him down like this. ‘What haven’t I done for her? Is there anything that she wished for that I didn’t get for her . . . and she has been unfaithful to me? No, no I can’t live without her. I don’t care what the world says, I may have to give up this post or I may have blood on my hands but I’m not going to spare Apte. I’m going to get rid of this man . . . I’m going to throw him out of my life.’

  Suddenly, the door opened, and Miss Joshi entered. Taken aback, Mr Johri got up from his chair and, assuming that Miss Joshi had returned to him disillusioned with her new life already, he said in a dry, condescending tone, ‘Come, darling, I’ve been missing you. No matter what you may do, I can never forget you.’

  ‘You just say these things,’ Miss Joshi said.

  ‘You want me to tear my heart apart and show you?’

  ‘Love never lies, nor does love ever instigate. Right now you are baying for my blood but instead are telling me that you miss me. You have put my saviour behind bars, and you call this love? What do you want from me? If you think that these hardships will tire me out and I shall return to you, you are mistaken. You have every right to throw Apte in a prison, or hang him but none of these things will affect me. He is everything to me. It is his magnanimity that has saved me. And you, you defiled my very soul. Did it ever cross your mind what I may be going through? You simply assumed I had no soul. But this man, this superior human being has made me his simply on the strength of his purity and honesty. In our first meeting I became his and shall remain his till my dying day. You cannot change that. I needed to have true faith and I have found it. And now all the riches of this world have no meaning for me. I may die craving for him but I shall never return to you.’

  ‘Miss Joshi, love is not magnanimous, nor is it forgiving. For me you are everything, and I thought you were mine. But if you can’t be mine then what do I care where or how you are?’

  ‘Is that your final decision?’

  ‘What if I say yes?’

  Miss Joshi drew out a pistol and said, ‘In that case first it shall be your body lying on the floor and then mine. Tell me, is that your final decision?’

  Miss Joshi was now pointing the pistol at Mr Johri. He got up from the chair and smiled. ‘Would you ever have done this to me? Perhaps not. Now I’m convinced that you can’t ever be mine. Go, you are welcome to be with your Apte. All charges against him shall be dropped. Only pure love can have this kind of courage, and now I’m convinced that your love is pure. If an old sinner is capable of predicting the future then I tell you that the day is not far when you shall be the hostess of Raj Bhavan. Apte has defeated me not only in love but also in politics. A single meeting with an honest man can change one’s life, infuse new life into a soul, take one from ignorance to knowledge and from darkness to light. Today I’ve seen this being proven true.’

  Translated from the Hindi by Vandana R. Singh

  Man and Woman

  1

  For Vipin Babu, a woman was the only beautiful thing in this world. He was a poet and writing eulogies to the beauty and youth of women was the most pleasant theme of his poetry. He perceived women to be the epitome of kindness, sweetness and adornment in the world. A woman’s name only had to be mentioned for his eyes to twinkle, and his ears to stiffen as if a maven had heard the first strain of music. The moment he came of age, he started imagining the beauty who would be the queen of his heart. She would have the brightness of dawn, the delicacy of flowers, the gleam of gold, the grandeur of spring and the melody of a cuckoo. She should be an embo
diment of all the metaphors of beauty preferred by poets. He was a devotee of that imaginary idol, praising her in his poems. He would discuss her in his friends circle and stay inebriated in her thoughts. The day was not far when his desires would become a reality, his hopes would be fulfilled. The final examination of his college education had ended and wedding proposals had begun to arrive.

  2

  The wedding date was fixed. Vipin Babu insisted on seeing the girl. But when his uncle assured him that he had seen the girl and she was very beautiful, Vipin Babu agreed. The baraat left with much pomp and show, and the auspicious time for the nuptials arrived. When the bride, adorned with jewels, came to the mandap, Vipin stole a glance at her hands and feet. What beautiful fingers she had, as if they were the flames of many candles! Her graceful figure captivated his heart. Vipin was on cloud nine. The next day after the bride’s farewell, he was so impatient for a glimpse that the moment the palanquin bearers stopped during the journey to wash their hands and feet, he sneaked off to see her. She was peeping out of the palanquin, after having removed her veil. He caught sight of her, and a wave of hatred, anger and disappointment swept through his face. She was not the beautiful maiden that he had dreamt of for years. She was a broad-faced, flat-nosed, puffy-cheeked ugly creature. Although she had a fair complexion, there was a paleness about it instead of a rosy glow. A fair complexion can never compensate for the missing beautiful features. Vipin’s excitement went cold. Could she find no one other than me in the whole wide world to hang like a burden around my neck? He was very angry with his uncle who had endlessly praised her beauty. If only he could find him right now, he would teach him a lesson he would never forget.

  When the palanquin bearers resumed the journey, Vipin started thinking, How will I ever talk to this woman? How will I spend my entire life with her? I feel repulsed just seeing her face. I never knew such ugly women existed in this world. What a disgusting face God has made, what terrible eyes. I could have tolerated everything . . . but that big mouth! O God, why did this calamity befall me?