by Premchand
Pande parted his lips as if to speak, like a dying bird opens its beak to chirp, but no sound came out. The last thread of life also snapped. His mouth remained open and the bundle of notes stayed on his lifeless chest. The wife came running and seeing the dead body let out a scream.
‘What happened to him?’ she asked.
‘He died, what else?’
Beating her head with her hands she cried, ‘Dead! Good heavens! What do we do now?’
She scuttled towards the bungalow. Mr Sinha pulled the bundle of money away from the corpse and also began to head home.
‘What will you do with this money?’ Sinha’s wife asked.
‘I will donate it for some religious work.’
‘I beg you, do not keep this money at home! Oh God!’
4
Before daybreak the news had already spread across the city—Jagat Pande lost his life because of Mr Sinha. A mob of nearly a thousand men was present when his body was picked up. Curses and abuses were being hurled at Mr Sinha.
After dusk, Mr Sinha had returned from the court and was sitting gloomily when the servants of the household came up to him and said, ‘Sarkar, relieve us from our jobs! Give us our money and set us free. The men of our fraternity have threatened us with ostracism from the community if we do not stop serving you.’
Sinha asked agitatedly, ‘Who threatened you?’
‘Who all should we name, sarkar! All of them say the same,’ the palanquin bearer said.
‘Huzoor, I am being threatened that my entry into the temples will be banned,’ said the cook.
Mr Sinha commanded, ‘You cannot leave without a month’s notice.’
The horse-wrangler said, ‘Huzoor, we cannot survive if we are at loggerheads with our own community. We resign today. You can pay us whenever you think is appropriate.’
Mr Sinha first tried to handle them with anger, then resorted to coaxing them, but the servants stuck to their guns. Within half an hour, every one of them left. Mr Sinha sat there helplessly. But how difficult can things be for a haakim? He immediately sent word to the kotwaal that he was in need of servants and very soon several unemployed men were sent to his bungalow. Work resumed once again.
From that day tensions grew between Mr Sinha and the Hindu community. The dhobi refused to wash his clothes. The milkman tried to evade bringing milk. The hairdresser too refused his services to Mr Sinha. What made matters worse was his wife’s weeping and wailing. Every night she would have nightmares. She could not go from one room to another in the dark out of fear. If anybody in the house reported the slightest discomfiture or illness, she would begin to wallow in panic and anxiety. The biggest of her sorrows was that even relatives stopped visiting them. One day her brothers came, but left without even touching a glass of water. Another day, a brother-in-law visited, but he did not even take the paan that was offered to him. With great patience, Mr Sinha bore the contempt that came his way. He had lost nothing in terms of money. Men in need continued to turn up at his door, and gifts and money poured in like they always had. So there was hardly any great cause for worry.
But to have enmity with one’s own community is akin to living in a pond infested with crocodiles. It is merely a matter of time till some occasion or the other comes when one has to admit defeat to the society. Mr Sinha too was faced with such a situation within a year. The occasion was the wedding of his daughter. This is an occasion that forces even the most arrogant of men into meekness. You may not have a single care for the world—who comes and goes, what they eat, whether they do or do not meet you—but a daughter’s wedding is a problem that you simply can’t circumvent. Where will you go! Mr Sinha had anticipated that Triveni’s marriage would be jeopardized to some extent, but at the same time he was also convinced that he would tide over it on the strength of his money. He let some months pass thinking that maybe time would calm this storm, but when Triveni turned seventeen, Sinha realized that there was not much time to waste. He began sending out proposals. But wherever the messenger went, he was met with the same reply: ‘We can’t accept the proposal.’ The households that would have jumped for joy at being offered such a proposal only a year ago now replied dryly, ‘We can’t accept the proposal.’ Mr Sinha tried to lure families with money and land, by offers to send the boy abroad for studies, but all his plans and schemes were turned down. Observing the attitudes and responses of the high-class families, Mr Sinha turned to those families with whom he was previously averse to even sitting down for a meal. But he received the same response from this quarter too. Maybe someone from the families that had been excommunicated from the society would agree to take his daughter’s hand in marriage, but Mr Sinha could not bring himself to build relations with people who had no position in the society. In such a manner, a year passed.
Mrs Sinha was lying on the charpoy groaning, Triveni was cooking and Mr Sinha was sitting near his wife, worried. In his hand he held a letter, at which he was looking repeatedly. He was lost in thought. After a long time the ailing woman opened her eyes and proclaimed, ‘I won’t last now. Pande will not let me live. What is that in your hand?’
‘It’s a letter from Yashodanandan,’ he told her. ‘This man has neither shame nor gratitude, I helped him get a job, got him married. And today he has the audacity to refuse to marry his younger brother to my daughter. His fate would have turned around, the damned man!’
‘Bhagwan,’ she cried out, ‘call me to you! I cannot bear to see this any more. I want to have grapes. Did you send for them?’
‘I’ve fetched them myself.’
He placed the plate of grapes near her. She started to eat them one by one. When the grapes were over, she asked, ‘Who will you send the proposal to next?’
‘How do I answer you? I cannot think of any other person to ask. It’s a million times better to live outside the society instead of living in such a society. I took a bribe from a Brahmin; I don’t deny that. But who doesn’t? Nobody turns down an opportunity for gain. Forget Brahmin, bribe-takers will exploit God Himself, if needed. If the man who offered the bribe ends his life in disappointment, how is that a sin on my part! If somebody, unhappy with my decision, poisons himself, why am I to be held responsible for it? Yet I am prepared to atone for the damage that has been done, willing to accept the punishment that the fraternity deems fit for me. I have told everybody repeatedly that I am ready for reparation of any kind, but nobody listens. Punishment should always be in keeping with the gravity of the crime, else it would be injustice. If the fraternity decides to send me to the Kaala Paani prison for breaking bread with a Muslim, I will never agree to such a penalty. Besides, it is I who has committed the crime. Why mete out the punishment to my daughter? This is sheer injustice.’
‘But what will you do? Can’t a panchayat be held?’ asked his wife in desperation.
‘Even the panchayat is constituted of men from the same fraternity. I have no expectations or hopes of fair judgement from them. I tell you, the real reason behind this ignominy is jealousy. They have always been jealous of me, which is why they are grabbing every opportunity to humiliate me. I know their mentality fully well.’
‘My heart’s desire has died. I will have to leave this world with my wishes unfulfilled. If this is the will of God, then so be it. I fear for my child’s future hearing the things you say. My last humble request to you is that please don’t marry her outside the fraternity, else my soul will not find peace even in the heavens. This sorrow is taking my very life. Oh, what calamity is going to befall my child!’
With these words Mrs Sinha’s eyes welled up with tears. Consoling her, Mr Sinha said, ‘Don’t worry, my dear, all I intended to say was that such thoughts sometimes cross my troubled mind. I swear, the cruelty of my fraternity has broken my heart into a million pieces.’
‘Don’t blame the fraternity,’ she said defensively. ‘If it were not for the fear of the fraternity, Man would stop at no bad deed. Do not blame the society.’ Placing a hand on her bo
som, she groaned, ‘My heart is aching. Even Yashodanandan has turned us down. There’s not a single hope for comfort. What do I do, oh lord!’
Mr Sinha asked worriedly, ‘Should I call the doctor?’
‘Call him if you wish, but I will not survive,’ she sobbed. ‘Fetch Tibbo, let me hug her one last time. My heart is sinking. My child! Oh my child!’
Translated from the Hindi by Sarah Mariam
The Outcaste
1
A mother and daughter used to live in a hut on the other side of the village. The daughter used to collect leaves from the orchard, the mother used to roast grains in the clay oven. This was their livelihood. They would get a ser or two of grains and be content with that. The mother was a widow, the daughter unmarried, and there was no one else in the house. The mother’s name was Ganga, the daughter’s, Gaura.
For many years Ganga had been worried about Gaura’s marriage but no match could be finalized. Ganga had neither remarried after her husband’s death, nor had she taken up any job. So people used to wonder how she made ends meet. Other people wore themselves down to the bone to earn a living and yet failed to obtain enough to fill their bellies. Even though this woman didn’t work, she and her daughter lived comfortably, and didn’t have to beg. There was definitely some mystery in this. Slowly this suspicion became stronger and continued to persist. In the community nobody was willing to get engaged to Gaura. Shudra communities are usually very small. They cover an area not more than five to ten kos. That’s why no one’s virtues and vices can remain hidden from others.
To dispel these suspicions, the mother went on many pilgrimages with her daughter. She went as far as Orissa, but the doubts could not be quelled. Gaura was young and beautiful, but nobody had seen her laughing or chatting, either near the well or in the fields. She would never raise her eyes. But these things further strengthened people’s suspicions. Surely there was some mystery. No woman can be so virtuous. Surely there was some secret.
Days passed in this fashion. The old woman was wasting away with worry. The lovely girl’s countenance, on the other hand, was blooming day by day. The bud was blossoming into a flower.
2
One day a stranger passed through the village. He was coming from a distance of ten to twenty kos. He was on his way to Calcutta in search of a job. It was night. Looking for the house of another Kahar, he came to Ganga’s home. Ganga welcomed him warmly—she brought wheat flour for him and offered her own utensils. The Kahar cooked and ate his food, lay down and started talking. The conversation turned to Gaura’s engagement. The Kahar was young. He saw Gaura, observed her behaviour and her lovely image was imprinted on his mind. He agreed to the alliance. He returned home and brought some ornaments from his sister’s house. The village draper loaned him some clothes. He came with some kinsmen for the engagement. They got engaged, and he started living there. Ganga could never let her daughter and son-in-law out of her sight.
But within a week or so, Mangru started to hear all kinds of gossip. People, not only of his own caste but of the other castes also, started filling his ears with stories. Hearing them time and again, he began to regret having heedlessly fallen into a trap. But the thought of deserting Gaura made his heart shudder.
After a month, Mangru went to return his sister’s jewellery. At mealtime, his brother-in-law did not sit down to eat with him. Mangru suspected something and asked his brother-in-law, ‘Why don’t you come?’
His brother-in-law said, ‘You go ahead, I’ll eat later.’
Mangru: ‘What is the matter? Why aren’t you eating with me?’
Brother-in-law: ‘How can I eat with you till there is a meeting of the panchayat? I can’t forgo my community for your sake. You didn’t consult anyone before you became engaged to a whore.’
Mangru left the kitchen, pulled on his quilted jacket and returned to his in-laws’ home. He left his sister crying.
That same night, Mangru, without saying a word to anybody, went off somewhere, leaving Gaura behind. Gaura was sound asleep. How was she to know that her gem of a husband, whom she had got after so much patience and perseverance, was deserting her forever?
3
Many years passed. There had been no news of Mangru at all. Not even a letter had arrived, yet Gaura was very happy. She would fill her hair parting with vermilion, wear colourful clothes and put layers of colour on her lips. Mangru had left behind an old book of bhajans. Occasionally she would read that book and sing. Mangru had taught her Hindi. She was able to read the bhajans, stumbling over the words.
Earlier she used to keep to herself. She would feel a sense of hesitation while talking to the other women of the village. She didn’t have that object on which the other women used to pride themselves. All of them discussed their husbands. And she didn’t have a husband then. Who could she talk about! Now she too had a husband. She too had the authority to talk on this subject to other women. She talked about Mangru—how affectionate, gentlemanly and brave he was. She could never have her fill of talking about her husband.
The women would ask, ‘Why did Mangru leave you?’
Gaura would say, ‘What could he do? Can a man lie around in his in-laws’ home? It is a man’s job to go off and earn some money. Otherwise how will he maintain his dignity?’
Whenever anybody asked why he didn’t write letters, she simply laughed and said, ‘He is afraid to tell me his address. He knows Gaura will descend upon him. To tell you the truth, if I could find out his address, I wouldn’t be able to bear living here even for a single day. It is a good thing that he is not sending me letters. How will the poor man manage home and hearth in a new land?’
One day a friend said, ‘We don’t believe you. You’ve definitely quarrelled with Mangru, otherwise he wouldn’t have left you without saying anything.’
Gaura answered with a laugh, ‘Behen, does one fight with one’s God? He is my master, why would I quarrel with him? If he ever fought with me, I would drown myself. Could he have gone after telling me? Wouldn’t I have clung to his legs?’
4
One day a man came from Calcutta and stayed in Ganga’s house. He told them that he belonged to a neighbouring village. He lived in Mangru’s neighbourhood in Calcutta. Mangru had asked him to bring Gaura to him. He had sent two saris and some money for the journey as well. Gaura couldn’t contain her happiness. She agreed to go along with the old Brahmin. Before she left, she embraced all the women of the village. Ganga accompanied her till the station. Everybody said that Lady Luck had finally smiled on the poor girl. Otherwise she would have died of frustration.
On the way Gaura thought—I wonder what he must be like now. His moustache must have grown. Men are comfortable away from home. His body must have filled out. He must have become a babu sahib! I will not speak to him for the first two or three days. Then I will ask—why did you leave me? Even if somebody had spoken ill of me, why did you believe that? Why did you believe others instead of believing your own eyes? Whether I am good or bad, I am yours, why did you make me cry for so many days? If somebody had spoken about you in this manner, would I have left you? When you accepted me, you became mine. You may have millions of faults, for all I care. I can’t leave you even if you become a Turk. Why did you desert me? What did you think, running away is easy? At last you had to call me, didn’t you? How couldn’t you? I took pity on you which is why I’m coming back to you, otherwise I could have said, I won’t go to such a heartless man. Then you would have come running to me. With perseverance, one can even attain the gods! When they can come and stand in front of us, how could you not come? In her excited state she repeatedly asked the old Brahmin how far they were from their destination. ‘Does he live on the other end of the earth?’ She wanted to ask so many other questions but could not out of hesitation. She consoled herself by imagining what lay in store. He must have a large house since people live in pukka houses in towns. As he is on such good terms with his sahib, he must have a servant too. I will fire the se
rvant. What will I do lying idle the whole day?
From time to time she missed her home too. Poor Amma must be crying. Now she will have to do all the household chores by herself. I wonder if she’s taking the goats to graze or not. Poor things must be bleating the whole day. I’ll send money for the goats every month. When I return from Calcutta, I will bring sarees for everyone. I will not return empty-handed then. I will have a lot of gifts with me. I will bring something or the other for everyone. By that time we’ll have lots of goats.
Gaura spent the entire journey daydreaming. How was the simple woman to know that her desires differed from what providence had in store for her? How was she to know that demons lurk even in the guise of old Brahmins? She was happily absorbed in building castles in the air.
5
On the third day, the train reached Calcutta. Gaura’s heart started pounding. He must be standing somewhere nearby. He must be coming now. With this thought, she pulled the veil over her face and prepared herself. But Mangru was nowhere in sight. The old Brahmin said, ‘Mangru doesn’t appear to be here, I have searched everywhere. Maybe he is busy and couldn’t get leave to come; also, he didn’t know which train we would be taking. Why wait for him, come, let us go home.’
Both of them climbed into a tonga and set off. Gaura had never ridden a tonga before. She was proud of the fact that she was sitting in a tonga while so many babus were walking on foot. Very soon the tonga reached Mangru’s home. It was a huge building, the compound was neat and clean, and pots of flowers were kept in the porch. She started climbing up the stairs, full of astonishment, joy and hope. She was oblivious of herself. As she started climbing the stairs her feet started aching. This entire palace is his. He must be paying a lot of rent. He doesn’t care about money at all. Her heart was pounding. Mangru may be coming down the stairs. What will I do if I meet him on the stairs? I hope I find him sleeping. I will wake him and he will get up with a start when he sees me. At last they reached the top of the stairs. The godly Brahmin made Gaura sit in a room. This was Mangru’s home but he wasn’t here either. A single cot stood in the room. Some utensils were lying in a corner. This is his room. Then the house must be somebody else’s, he must have taken this on rent. Let me see, the hearth is cold. He must have eaten puris in the bazaar last night and gone to sleep. This is his charpoy. A pitcher had been placed in one corner. Gaura’s mouth was parched. She poured out some water and drank it. A broom was lying in one corner. Gaura was tired by the journey, but fatigue disappeared in the excitement of love. She swept the room, washed and kept the utensils in one place. She found intimacy reflected in every object of the room, even the floor and the walls. She had never felt this pride of joyous ownership even in the home where she had spent twenty-five years of her life.