The Complete Short Stories

by Premchand

  I used to go with my cousin Halder to another village to study with a maulvi. I was eight years old then, and Halder (he now lives in heaven) was two years older than me. Every morning both of us would eat stale chapattis, carry the chabena made of peas and barley and leave the house. The whole day lay ahead of us. There was no attendance register at Maulvi Sahib’s place, nor was there a fine to be paid for being absent. What was there to fear then! Sometimes we watched the soldier’s drill in front of the police station or spent the whole day following the juggler who made the bear or monkey dance. Sometimes we headed to the railway station to watch the endless movement of trains. Even the timetable did not contain the kind of information we had about the timings of the trains. Once, on the way back to our village, we saw that a moneylender from the city was getting a garden made. A well was being dug. Even that was an interesting spectacle for us. The aged gardener would very lovingly make us sit in his hut. We insisted on helping him out with his work even though he resisted it. We either carried the bucket to water the plants, or used the shovel to scrape the ground or trimmed the leaves of the creepers using scissors. I felt so happy doing that work! The gardener’s behaviour was childish. He used our services but in a way that seemed as if he was obliging us. The amount of work he could finish in a whole day, we completed in an hour. Now that gardener is no more, but the garden is still green. As I walk past it, my heart wishes to cling to those trees and cry and tell them, ‘Dear, you have forgotten me, but I haven’t; your memories are still fresh in my heart, as fresh as your leaves. You are the living example of selfless love.’

  Sometimes we remained absent for weeks but came up with such excuses that Maulvi Sahib’s knitted eyebrows would soon relax. If I had such an imagination today, I would have written a novel that people would have been amazed by. But now the situation is such that even after much persuasion I can barely think of a story. Actually, Maulvi Sahib was a tailor. He pursued the role of a maulvi as a hobby. Both of us praised him a lot in front of the unlettered villagers. One could say that we were Maulvi Sahib’s brand ambassadors. We were proud of ourselves whenever through our publicity Maulvi Sahib got some work. When we could not think of a good excuse, we would take some gift or the other for him. Sometimes we picked up a kilo or half a kilo of seed pods or five–ten sticks of sugarcane, or carried fresh green sprigs of barley or wheat. A look at those gifts would pacify Maulvi Sahib’s anger at once. When it was not the time of harvest for these items, we would think of some other solution to save ourselves from punishment. Maulvi Sahib had an interest in birds. Cages of blackbirds, nightingales and crested larks hung in the school. Whether we remembered the lessons or not, the birds certainly remembered them. They also studied with us. We showed a lot of enthusiasm in grinding chana-dal powder for these birds. Maulvi Sahib would instruct all the boys to catch moths. These birds had a keen interest in the moths. Whenever we felt that Maulvi Sahib was about to fly into a rage, we would start collecting moths, for they would take his anger away. By sacrificing them we would pacify the wrath of Maulvi Sahib.

  One morning both of us went to wash our faces in the nearby pond. Halder took a whitish thing in his fist and showed it to me. Instantly I opened his fist. There was a one-rupee coin in it. Astonished, I asked, ‘Where did you find this rupee?’

  Halder replied, ‘Mother had kept it on the shelf. I stood the cot sideways, climbed onto it and took the rupee.’

  There was no chest or almirah in the house; the money was kept on a shelf at some height. Yesterday, Uncle had sold san. The money had been kept to pay the zamindar. I don’t know how Halder had got to know about it.

  We had never touched a one-rupee coin before. I remember even today how while looking at that rupee, waves of happiness and fear arose in our hearts. The rupee was a precious thing. Maulvi Sahib used to get only twelve annas from us. At the end of every month Uncle would go himself to Maulvi Sahib and pay the money. Who could possibly assess our sense of pride? But the fear of getting thrashed was ruining our happiness. The money was not uncountable. It was quite understood that the theft would be detected. Halder had already had a first-hand experience of Uncle’s anger, even if I hadn’t. Nobody in the whole world was more innocent and naïve than Uncle was. But when he got angry, he lost all sense of proportion in his blinding rage. Even Aunty feared his anger. For several minutes both of us kept thinking about these things. Finally it was decided that we could not let go of the money. Nobody would doubt us at all, and if they did, we would straightaway deny it. What would we even do with the money, we would staunchly say.

  If we had thought over this plan a little more, the horrific drama that took place might have been averted, but at that moment we did not have the capacity to contemplate such things.

  We entered the house sheepishly after washing our hands and faces. If by any chance they decided to search us, then only God could save us. But everybody was doing their work. Nobody spoke to us. We did not eat our breakfast—neither did we carry the chabena; we just kept our books under our arms and left in the direction of the madrasa.

  It was the rainy season. There were clouds in the sky. We were walking towards the school in high spirits. Even getting a position in the council ministry would not have given us so much happiness. We had thousands of ambitions and built thousands of castles in the air. We had got this opportunity after a long time. We were unlikely to get this chance ever again. That is why we wanted to spend the rupee in such a way that it would last for many days. Although during those days, one could get very good quality sweets for five annas a kilo, half a kilo of sweets would have sated both of us. But we thought that if we ate sweets then the rupee would disappear that day itself. We had to eat something that came cheap—which not only made us happy, but filled our stomachs and cost less. Finally, we saw guavas. Both of us agreed. We bought guavas worth two paise. It was a time when things were cheap. We got twelve big guavas. Our bellies were full. When Halder kept the rupee in the fruit-seller’s hand, she looked at us with suspicion and asked, ‘Where did you find this rupee, Lala? Have you stolen it?’

  We had the answer ready. We had read at least two–three books, if not more. Knowledge had left some influence on us. I promptly answered, ‘We have to pay Maulvi Sahib’s fees. There was no loose cash in the house, so Uncle gave us the rupee.’

  This answer ended the fruit-seller’s suspicion. Both of us ate lots of guavas while sitting on a bridge. But now where would we take the fifteen and a half annas? It was not difficult to hide a one-rupee coin. Where would one hide a pile of coins? We did not have much space around our waists or in our pockets. To keep them with us would mean blowing a trumpet about the theft. After thinking over it for a long time, it was decided that twelve annas would be given to Maulvi Sahib and with the remaining three and a half annas we would buy sweets. After taking this decision, we reached the school. We had gone to the school after many days. Getting annoyed, Maulvi Sahib asked, ‘Where were you all these days?’

  I replied, ‘There was a death in the family, Maulvi Sahib.’

  While I said this, I put the twelve annas in front of him. That way there was nothing left for him to ask. Maulvi Sahib was ecstatic after seeing the money. There were still many days left for the month to end. Normally, he would receive the money days after the month started and that too after constantly demanding it. It was not unusual for him to feel so happy after receiving the money so much in advance. We looked at the other boys with pride in our eyes, as if we were telling them: on the one hand, there are boys like you who do not pay the money even after one asks for it, and on the other hand there are boys like us, who pay in advance!

  We were still reading our lessons when we realized that there was a fair near the lake and so school would get over in the afternoon. Maulvi Sahib had to go to the mela for a nightingale fight. Our happiness was beyond imagination when we heard the news. We had already deposited twelve annas in the bank; with the three and a half annas we could see the fair. The
re would be a lot of jubilation. We could relish revadis, golgappas, enjoy the rides and reach home in the evening. But Maulvi Sahib had laid down a condition that before school got over every boy had to recite his lesson. Those unable to recite it would not be freed. As a result, I got free but Halder was kept in prison. Many other boys had also recited their lessons, so they all left for the fair. I joined them. The money was with me, so I didn’t wait for Halder. It was decided that once he got free, he would come to the fair and then we would see it together. I had promised him that until he came I would not spend a single paisa. But who knew misfortune was to take such a dramatic turn? More than an hour had passed since I had reached the fair, but Halder was nowhere to be seen. Had Maulvi Sahib still not freed him or had he lost his way to the fair? I was looking at the road with desperate eyes. My heart did not allow me to enjoy the fair alone. There was also the doubt that the theft had been exposed and Uncle had taken Halder home. Finally, when evening set in, I ate a few revadis and kept Halder’s share of the money in my pocket and slowly walked towards home. On my way I thought of visiting the school thinking that Halder may still be there, but it was desolate. However, I met a boy who was playing there. The moment he saw me, he burst out laughing and said, ‘Boy, go home, and you will get a thrashing. Your uncle had come. He beat Halder all the way home. He punched Halder so strongly that he fell flat on his face, and then he dragged him from here till home. You had paid Maulvi Sahib’s salary, but he took even that away. Think of some excuse now, otherwise you will also be beaten up.’

  I was petrified. The blood in my body dried up. Things had turned out exactly the way I had feared. My feet had become heavy like a maund. Taking a single step towards home had become difficult. I offered obeisance in the form of laddus, pedas and batashas to all the male and female deities whose names I could remember. When I reached the village, I remembered the village deity, because in our region, the wish of the village deity is of utmost significance.

  I did all this but as home kept getting closer, my heartbeat kept rising. It seemed as if the sky would fall on me. I could see people running back to their houses leaving their work behind. Even the cattle were returning home. Birds were flying towards their nests, but I was still walking at the same slow pace, as if there was no strength left in my legs. I wished that I had got high fever or hurt myself but if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride them. Death does not come when you want it to. So what can I say about illness? Nothing happened and despite walking at a slow pace, the house appeared in front of my eyes. What would happen now? There was a big tamarind tree right at our door. I hid behind it so that the sky could turn dark and I could stealthily enter the house and sit underneath the charpoy in my mother’s room. Once everybody was asleep, I would narrate the whole story to her. Mother never beat me. I would cry in front of her so that her heart melted. And nobody would ask further about it once the night ended. By the next morning, everyone’s anger would have faded. If all had gone according to plan, then there was no doubt that I could have emerged innocent. But God had something else in mind. A boy saw me and ran inside the house calling my name incessantly. Now there was no hope for me. I helplessly entered the house, and screamed out suddenly like a beaten-up dog that starts yelping when it sees someone approaching it. My father was in the sitting room. His health had not been good for the last few days. He was on leave. I was not sure what he was suffering from. He mostly ate dal, and in the evening, he drank something in a glass that he kept pouring in from a bottle. Maybe this was a medicine prescribed by an experienced quack. All medicines stink and have a bitter taste. This one was equally bad but I don’t know why my father enjoyed drinking it. When we drank such medicine, we would just close our eyes and gulp it down at once. Maybe the effect of this medicine was felt only when one drank it slowly. A few ‘patients’ from the village would sit with my father and keep drinking for hours. They got up with great difficulty to eat. Even at this hour, they were drinking it. When he saw me he shouted in anger, ‘Where were you till now?’

  I answered in a hushed voice, ‘Nowhere.’

  ‘You are learning to steal now. Tell me, did you steal the rupee?’

  I turned dumb. A naked sword was dancing in front of me. I was scared to even utter a word.

  Father scolded me severely and then asked, ‘Why aren’t you answering me? Did you steal the rupee or not?’

  Putting my life at stake, I answered, ‘I did not—’

  Before I could utter the whole sentence, my father assumed a monstrous look. Grinding his teeth, he suddenly got up and, raising his hand, walked towards me. I screamed loudly and started crying. I screamed in such a manner that even he got scared. His hand became still. Maybe he was wondering if my condition was already like this, what would happen if he actually slapped me. I could even die. The moment I realized that my cleverness had worked, I started crying even more loudly. That very moment, two or three men came forward and held my father. They signalled at me to run away. Children in such situations become more headstrong and get beaten up unnecessarily. I was intelligent enough to understand that.

  But the scene inside the house was much worse. The blood froze in my veins. Halder’s hands were tied to a pillar, his whole body was covered with dust and he was still sobbing. Maybe he had rolled about in the courtyard. It appeared as if the entire courtyard was filled with his tears. Aunty was scolding Halder while my mother was grinding spices. Aunty was the first to notice me. She said, ‘See, even he has come now.’ Then to me, ‘Did you steal the rupee or did he?’

  Fearlessly, I replied, ‘Halder.’

  Mother said, ‘If he stole it why didn’t you come home and tell someone?’

  It was difficult for me to save myself without lying. In my opinion, lying can easily be excused if a man’s life is in danger. Halder was used to being thrashed. Two or more punches would make no difference to him. But I had never been beaten before. I could have not have survived those punches. Even Halder had tried to save himself by involving me, otherwise why would Aunt ask me whether I had stolen the rupee or Halder? By all means, lying for me was, at that moment, pardonable if not praiseworthy. I promptly replied, ‘Halder warned me that if I told anybody about it, he would kill me.’

  ‘See, it is exactly as I had predicted. I kept saying that my child does not have this habit. He never touches any money. But everyone insisted otherwise.’

  Halder protested, ‘When did I say that I would beat you if you tell someone?’

  ‘By the side of the pond,’ I replied.

  Halder said, ‘Mother, he is lying.’

  Aunt replied ‘It isn’t a lie, it is the truth. It is you who is the liar as your name has been revealed. The rest of the world is not. Had your father been working in the city and earning money, or, if he had earned respect in the eyes of other men, then you could have been considered truthful. Now it is only you who is the liar. Just as you faced the wrath for which you were destined, he ate the sweets he was destined to.’

  Aunt then untied Halder’s hands and took him inside. By gently criticizing me, mother had changed the direction of the game. Otherwise, poor Halder would have been beaten up further. I sat next to my mother and sang about my innocence. My good-hearted mother believed it to be the truth incarnate. She was fully convinced that it was Halder’s fault. A moment later, I stepped out of the storeroom with jaggery and chabena in my hands. At that very moment, Halder also walked out eating rice puffs. We came out together and narrated our predicaments to each other. While my story was a happy one, Halder’s was sad. But the end was the same—jaggery and chabena.

  Translated from the Hindi by Uttara Bisht

  The Goddess from Heaven

  1

  It’s all about destiny! Marriages are made in heaven. One marries whoever God or his agents, the Brahmins, decide upon. Babu Bharatdas had laid down no conditions while seeking a suitable bridegroom for his daughter. But he could not find the kind of boy and family he sought. He wante
d his daughter happy, like any dutiful father, but according to him, possessions were of prime importance. Character and education were secondary. Character is not reflected on a person’s face and of what value is education in today’s world? Of course, if wealth is accompanied by education, then what more can one ask for! He searched far and wide for such a family but in vain. After all, how many families are there with both these attributes? And the few families that did exist were not of the same community. If the community matched, the stars did not; if the stars matched, then the terms and conditions of the marriage could not be agreed upon. Helpless, Bharatdas was forced to get his daughter Leela married off to Lala Santsaran’s son, Sitasaran. He was the only son, fairly well-educated, courteous, worldly-wise and also quite a romantic at heart. The most important thing was that though he was handsome, strong, cheerful and brave, his views were still very old-fashioned. Whatever was traditional was good, whatever was modern, bad. When it came to business the zamindar used all the new practices for that was an arena where he had no power. But he was a hardcore conservative when it came to societal customs. Sitasaran blindly followed his father in word and deed. He didn’t have a mind of his own. A dull intellect often manifests as a lack of social liberalism.

  2

  Leela’s trials started from the day she stepped into the house. The acts that had been encouraged in her own home were prohibited here. Since childhood she had been taught to take in big gulps of air, here it was seen as sinful to even open one’s mouth to inhale. As a child she had been taught that sunlight was life, here to even glimpse sunlight was considered harmful. At home, tolerance, forgiveness and compassion were quoted as divine virtues, here one was not free to even name these traits. Santsaran was an extremely acerbic, angry man who wouldn’t allow a fly to land on his nose. It was only through cheating and lies that he had amassed so much property is there space before this? This was his mantra for a successful life. His wife was a notch or two above him. If her bahu were ever to be found standing in the doorway of her darkened room or having stepped foot on the terrace, floods would arrive, the heavens would fall. She was stricken with the malady of incessant nagging. A bit of extra salt in the dal was an excuse enough to nag all day. A huge, hefty woman, laden with jewellery, wearing a wide lehnga of chintz, she sat all day long on her string cot, her box of betel leaves beside her. Even a leaf dared not move against her wish. Observing her bahu’s new-fangled habits, she boiled with rage. Our reputation is at stake. Just look at the way she’s peering out from the balcony. If my daughter had such a roving eye, I would have throttled her. Who knows what kind of people live in her part of the world! She never wears any jewellery. Look at her; she couldn’t care less about dressing up. Do you think these are good signs? Not just Leela, Sitasaran too had to face her tongue-lashing. ‘Oh, so you also like sleeping in the moonlight, is it? You call yourself a man? What kind of a man is he whose wife does not listen to him? Home all day long, stuck to her. Don’t you have a tongue in your head? Why don’t you make her understand?’