by Premchand
Sitasaran would say,‘Amma, if only she would listen.’
‘Why won’t she listen, aren’t you man enough? A mere glance from a man should make a woman tremble.’
‘How far have you got trying to make her see reason?’
‘You think she cares? She must be thinking—this old woman will die sooner or later and then I will be mistress of this house.’
‘Well, what can I say in response to that? Can’t you see how weak she has become? She has lost her colour. Her condition is going from bad to worse, being in that room all day long.’
Whenever she heard these words from her son, the mother would smoulder and rage all day long, alternately cursing her luck and this time in her life.
Though he spoke like this in front of his mother, the moment he was with Leela, Sitasaran’s attitude would change. He would say what Leela liked to hear, to such an extent that both made fun of the old woman. Leela had no relief other than this. All through the day she had to do endless chores. She had never sat before a stove, but now she had to slap away at quintals of atta as rotis had to be made for both the workers as well as the errand boys. Sometimes she would sit and weep for hours over the stove. It wasn’t as if these people couldn’t afford a cook but an old family custom demanded that the bahu cook, and this tradition had to be maintained. It was only the sight of Sitasaran that calmed Leela’s tortured spirit momentarily.
One summer evening, a breeze blew outside, but inside it was unbearably stuffy. Leela was sitting and reading a book when Sitasaran came in and said, ‘It’s very hot in here, sit outside.’
‘It is far better to bear this heat than listen to the taunts one would start hearing the moment one steps outside.’
‘If she says anything today, I won’t be able to hold myself back.’
‘And it will then be impossible to even stay in this house.’
‘We’ll get away from this strife.’
‘I won’t leave even if it kills me. Whatever she says or does, in her eyes, it’s for my own good. It’s not as if she has any enmity towards me. Yes, we may not like what she says, but that’s a different matter. She herself has had to endure all the suffering that she now wants me to bear. Her suffering has not affected her health in any way. At sixty-five she is sprightlier than me. So how can she comprehend that such suffering might injure one’s health?’
Sitasaran looked at her wilted face with beseeching eyes and said, ‘You have had to bear much sorrow in this house. This family is not worthy of you. You must surely have committed some sin in your previous life.’
Playing with her husband’s hands, Leela said, ‘Then how would I have found your love?’
3
Five years went by. Leela became a mother of two. A boy and a girl. The boy was named Jankisaran and the girl, Kamini. The children kept the house alive. The grandfather doted on the girl, while the grandmother doted on the boy. Both the children were boisterous and spoilt, and were given to cussing and making rude faces. Cussing and making rude faces was nothing to them. They would eat throughout the day and so often fall sick. Leela had tolerated all her own suffering but she could not bear to see these bad habits in her children, but who paid attention to her? Despite the fact that it was she who had given birth to these children, she was not considered significant; the children were everything. She had no right to even scold her own children; her mother-in-law would tear her apart.
The biggest trouble now was that her own health kept getting worse. During her pregnancy she had to undergo all the cruelties that ignorance, foolishness and superstition ordained for child-bearing women. In that hell hole where there was neither air nor light, nor any hygiene, and a foul smell pervaded the musty, filthy room, her delicate form shrivelled up. Whatever fight was left in her after the first childbirth was razed entirely after the second. She became pale and her eyes were sunken hollows. It seemed as if she was bloodless. Her appearance changed completely.
It was summer. There were not just ripe mangoes to eat, but also watermelons. There had never been such a good crop of both fruits. God only knew how they came to be so sweet that year. No one could stop eating them. Baskets laden with mangoes and watermelons arrived from Santsaran’s villages. The whole house fell upon them. Babu Sahib was of old stock. In the morning he would breakfast upon a hundred mangoes, then top it up with a full tray of watermelons. The lady of the house did not lag behind. She stopped eating an entire meal. Grain would not spoil after all. If not that day, they would be used another day. But would mangoes and watermelons keep fresh even for a day? You had to eat them all up or let them perish. They were used to this yearly flood of watermelons and mangoes and no one ever complained. If one felt heavy, one simply took some digestive.
One day Sitasaran felt twinges of pain in his tummy. He ignored it and sat down to eat the mangoes. The moment he reached a hundred, he threw up. Collapsed. He had relentless bouts of vomiting and diarrhoea. It was clearly cholera. A doctor was called in from the city but Babu Sahib passed away before he reached. Weeping and the beating of breasts followed. By evening the dead body was carried out of the house. When people returned from the funeral at midnight, the mistress too was found to be suffering from cholera. Once more there was a lot of scurrying around but by sunrise she too was gone. While they lived, husband and wife had not been separated even for a day. In death, too, they left the earth together at the same time. The husband at sunset, and his wife at sunrise.
But the tribulations had not ended. Leela was busy with all the arrangements for the rites, and nobody else bothered about cleaning up the house. On the third day, both the children went into the living room, crying for their grandparents. There was a slice of watermelon and a few mangoes kept on a ledge in the room. Flies were humming over them. Janki climbed on to a stool to reach them and then they sat down to eat them together. By evening both children were struck with cholera; before long their parents were left weeping. The house was enveloped in darkness. Where only three days ago there had been so much clamour, now a pall of gloom had descended; one could not even hear the sound of anyone crying. Who was there to cry? There were only two souls left. And they were too numb to weep.
4
Leela’s failing health had made her almost lifeless by now. She didn’t have the strength to even get up and sit. She seemed lost all the time, taking no interest either in getting dressed or eating. She appeared to be detached from the home as well as the world outside it. If she sat down somewhere, she would remain sitting. Months went by before she changed her clothes or oiled her hair. The children had been the sole reason for her to live. With them gone, life and death seemed the same. Day and night she prayed to God to rid her of this existence. She had experienced both joy and sorrow; now she had no more desires. But has death ever responded to one’s call?
At first Sitasaran too wept a lot every now and then; he would even run away from the house. But as the days passed by, his grief for his children ebbed; it is perhaps the mother who feels the most pain at losing a child to death. Slowly he was able to collect himself. He began to laugh and joke with his friends like before. The ones closest to him would rally around his spirits even more. He was now the master of the house and free to do what he wanted. There was no one to stop him. He began gallivanting all over the place. If once his eyes had welled up with tears at the sight of Leela crying, now he would get irritated looking at her immersed in grief. Life was not meant for crying. God had given them children and it was He who had snatched them away. ‘Does that mean that we also give up living?’ Leela was shocked to hear this. How could a father utter such words? There seemed to be all kinds of people in this world!
It was the time of Holi. There was much singing and dancing in the men’s quarters. A lot of people had been invited for the celebration. Leela was flat on the floor, weeping. She was always reduced to tears when festivals came. If the children had been alive they would have put on new clothes and how they would have romped around! Without the
m, what festival could they celebrate, what fun could they have?
All at once Sitasaran came in and said, ‘Are you going to spend the entire time weeping? Why don’t you change your clothes, look more respectable? What have you done to yourself?’
Leela replied, ‘You go back to your raucous mehfil, what do you care about me.’
‘Are you the first to have lost children? Are you the only one to face such tribulations?’
‘This we all know. Everyone copes in her own way. How can we control what we feel?’
‘Don’t you have any duty towards me?’
Leela looked at her husband in bewilderment, clueless about what he meant. Then she averted her face and resumed crying.
‘I want to put an end to this gloom. If you don’t have any control over your heart, then neither do I. I can’t spend my whole life mourning.’
‘You go ahead with your fun and games, I’m not stopping you! Why do you stop me from crying?’
‘My house is not for weeping.’
‘Very well, I will not weep in your house.’
5
Leela could see her husband slipping out of her hands. He had fallen prey to his lust and there was no one who could talk him out of it. He seemed to have lost his senses. She wondered what she could do. If she left, the house would crumble and her husband would be like so many other rich young men trapped in the clutches of his selfish friends. Some slut or the other would enter the house and ruin him completely. Oh God! What should I do? Were he to fall ill would I forsake him? Never. I would tend to him with all my being, pray to God, plead with the heavenly powers. Agreed that he is not physically ill but he is definitely mentally sick. If a man cries when he has to laugh and laugh when he should be crying, then is there any doubt that he is mad? If I leave him, he will be destroyed. It’s my duty to rescue him.
Yes, I will have to forget my sorrow. Cry I will, for tears are written in my fate—so I will cry but through laughter. I will fight my destiny. I can do little else but cry for those who have gone but I will not let go of those who are present. Oh broken heart! Come, let me gather these pieces and make a grave out of you and surrender my grief to you. Oh tearful eyes, hide my tears behind a halo of laughter. Come, my ornaments, for long have I spurned you, forgive me for this offence. You have been my companion in my good times, on wonderful journeys, now stay with me in this crisis; don’t betray me. Leela sat up all night talking to herself, while in the men’s quarters it was a total carnival. Drunk out of his senses, Sitasaran would break into song or a fit of clapping. His friends seemed to be painted in the same hue. It seemed that nothing mattered to them but sheer debauchery.
The last mehfil fell silent. No more of their hoo-ha could be heard. Leela wondered whether the crowd had left or fallen asleep. All at once a hush fell over the house. She went and stood at the doorway and peeped into the drawing room. A flame seared through her veins. The friends had departed. No sign of the socialites either. Just a beauty lying on the couch with Sitasaran bent over her, whispering softly into her ear. What was in their minds was clear from their expressions. One’s eyes sparkled with interest; the other’s leered. Thus is an innocent robbed by maya as beauty incarnate. Leela’s possessions were being robbed right under her nose by a bewitching trickster. Leela was so infuriated that she wanted to grab the slut with both hands then and there, snub her so soundly that she would never forget it and throw her out of the house. Those wifely feelings which had lain dormant for so long reawakened and agitated her. But she curbed herself. Surging desires cannot be dammed all of a sudden. She retraced her steps to the house, calmed her mind and thought to herself—In form and beauty, in feminine wiles, I cannot match this evil one. She’s like a piece of the moon, every part of her sparkles, every pore of her is intoxicating. Her eyes are so full of thirst, indeed, not thirst but a volcano! Leela went right to a mirror. After many months she looked at herself. A sigh escaped her lips. Grief had completely ravaged her body. Next to the seductress she was like a juhi flower beside a rose!
6
Sitasaran recovered from his hangover in the evening. When he opened his eyes he saw Leela before him, smiling. His eyes soaked in this rare image of Leela. He felt a thrill, as if he was meeting her after a long separation. How could he know how much she had wept while adorning herself, how many tears she had shed when she wove those flowers into her tresses. With reawakened desire he arose and embraced her. Smiling, he said, ‘Today you have adorned yourself with so many weapons that there seems to be nowhere to run.’
Leela laid a finger on her heart and said, ‘Stay here. You are always running away, now I will keep you captive. You’ve enjoyed the pleasures of exotic flowers, now look at the ones inside these dark rooms.’
Shamefaced, Sitasaran said, ‘Don’t call these dark rooms, Leela! They are overflowing like a divine lake of love.’
Just then, they heard a friend’s footsteps outside. As Sitasaran began to walk away, Leela caught his hand and said, ‘I won’t let you go.’
‘I’ll be right back.’
‘I’m afraid that you will leave me.’
When Sitasaran went outside, his good friend said, ‘Did you spend the entire day sleeping? You seem really pleased. We had decided to go there now, right? She is waiting for you.’
‘I’m ready to go but Leela won’t let me.’
‘You’re still the same moron. So you’re back in your wife’s clutches! Then what is it that got you so hot and bothered earlier?’
‘Leela had shut me out of the house, so I went here and there seeking refuge. Now she has reopened the gates and is standing at the entrance, calling out to me.’
‘Oh come on, how will you find the same pleasure here? No matter how much you adorn the home, can you turn it into a garden?’
‘Brother, the home cannot become a garden but it can become heaven. Now I alone know how ashamed I am of my pettiness. She suffered so much grief losing our children that it broke her body and diminished her beauty, and yet she cast it away at just one signal from me. As if this sorrow had never existed in the first place. I know that she can bear a lot of pain. She will protect me above everything else. When she saw that her sorrow was making me suffer, she cast aside her grief entirely. Today when I saw her adorned with ornaments and smiling at me, I was exhilarated. I feel as if she is a Goddess from heaven who has been sent only to protect a weak mortal like me. If I had to sell all my property to take back the cruel words I have uttered to her, I would do it. Truly, Leela is a Goddess from heaven.’
Translated from the Hindi by Swati Pal
Punishment
1
It was dusk, and the court of law had been adjourned. Public servants and peons were on their way home, their few pennies’ worth of daily earnings clanging in their pockets. The sweeper was trying his luck in the pile of garbage, hoping to find some money. In the verandas of the court, lawyers had been replaced by bulls and under the trees dogs had curled up where scribes had been. Just then, an old man, with tattered clothes and a stick in hand, arrived at the bungalow of Gent Sahib and stopped in the portico. Gent Sahib’s name was Mr G. Sinha. The attendant, spotting the old man, called out from afar, ‘Who stands there in the shade? What do you want?’
The old man said, ‘I’m an old Brahmin, bhaiya, may I see the sahib?’
‘Sahib doesn’t meet the likes of you,’ the attendant replied curtly.
The old man hit his walking stick against the ground and retorted with some haughtiness, ‘Why, pray? Do I look like a dacoit? Or is something else the matter with my face?’
‘You’ve come begging to fight a case, haven’t you?’
‘Is that a crime? Is it so bad if one doesn’t sell their house to fight a case? I have spent my entire life fighting my case, but never spent a penny meant for the household. I give people a dose of their own medicine. With great difficulty I have gathered money to give to the lawyer, begging at the doors of kind men. The whole village trembles at my n
ame. If one dares to play games with me, I take no time to claim my right in the court.’
‘You haven’t encountered a powerful man yet, have you?’
‘How many powerful men I have put in their place, you have little idea. I go right up to the high court. Dare anybody come in my way? Why should I be scared when I don’t stand to lose a penny? Whatever I set my mind on, I make it mine, by right or by might. So tell me, will you summon the sahib or should I?’