Our Favourite Indian Stories

by Khushwant Singh

  'Have I refused you before that you suddenly have to start asking?'

  'Refused and you would have had me to answer to. I'd have paddled you with my shoe so hard you'd have had a bald spot on the top of your head. No, I want you to run out and look in every house to see if they've gotten twice as much as we've gotten.'

  'Why should we bother with anyone else? What we have, we have for ourselves. No need now to go around the neighbourhood, begging for a light. And it is all because of you that no one has to worry. You're doing well, and everyone is doing well.'

  'Absolutely brainless, and still you go on chattering like you have something to say. I've been putting up with this for a lot longer than I've had to, but today it's too much. If everyone is doing well just because of me, then I might as well die. Don't try to argue with me. Just do as I say.'

  And talk about doing well! Wherever she went the Brahmin's wife found the Goddess's words had come true. She spun around the village like an unwound top. And in every house it was the same. People were dumb-founded. Was this some sort of magic or sorcery? Then the Brahmin's wife told them about the boon. At last her husband's penance had been rewarded.

  When she came home she found her husband sitting outside with a long face... At the sound of her footsteps, he lifted his head and asked, 'Is it true? Are they getting twice as much as we are?'

  When his wife nodded her head, it was as if a cannon had been fired into his ear. He wasn't worried about the people he didn't know, but the thought of the people in his own village getting all those things made him crazy. And not one speck of thanks — the bastards hadn't said a word. Helping ingrates like these should be considered a sin! He reeled around like a mad man and collapsed on his broken cot. His wife started massaging his hands and feet.

  After some time she tried to soothe him by saying, 'Why are you getting so upset over nothing? Let the world go up in smoke. What do you care? This shouldn't bother you.'

  'How am I supposed to let it all go up in smoke? If I really burned up, I'd be okay.'

  'You are part of this world. Keep yourself safe and sound and everything else will fall into place. Take a look in the mirror. You need to be healthy. Instead you grow skinny as a thorny bush right before my eyes. If I had a loaf of raw sugar, a pot of butter, and a kilo of fenugreek I would make you laddus to eat tonight, and then feed you some halwa besides. If I could bother you for the trouble, it'd be done before you know it. If you want, that is. Just make the wish.'

  As soon as he heard the words laddu and halwa the Brahmin's mouth began to water. He would have to get back his strength first if he wanted to deal with all these problems properly. No one knew, when he was going to take his last breath. It's not as if the Lord of Death trumpets His arrival. First, I'll let myself get better, he thought, then I'll deal with everyone else one by one. He lay down and wished for the list of things his wife had asked for. The items appeared as soon as the words had crossed his lips. As he smelled her warming the rich butter on the fire, he felt calmer.

  The Brahmin's wife felt as if she had been given ten new lives. First she looked at the loaf of raw sugar, then at the pot of butter. In a home where even salt had been scarce, this was the greatest luxury imaginable. After some time she resurfaced from her pool of happiness.

  She suddenly asked, Am I supposed to cook the things in my bare hands? I need a skillet and some nice bronze dishes. Then I'll have no problems.'

  Surprisingly enough the Brahmin went along with it. The pots and dishes appeared before her in an instant. It would take her no time to cook up some halwa.

  The Brahmin swallowed a mouthful of halwa. Then he turned to his wife and asked earnestly, 'I'm not dreaming, am I? Are my eyes open? Look at me carefully.'

  'First you tell me. Are my eyes open?'

  'Yes, they're wide open. You look awake to me.'

  'And your eyes are open. You're wide awake. Really, today we made halwa on our own stove! Things I couldn't even dream about yesterday I'm seeing with my own eyes today.'

  Soon they could think of nothing to ask for next. Before today, they had borne the worst hardships anyone could endure. Now they needed to bear the burden of happiness. They felt as if the world around them had suddenly vanished.

  Twilight came and the star-studded night descended on earth with chirping, chattering birds like its jingling anklets. What a miracle the stars were to behold! What a soft, gentle breeze blew! How beautiful the world looked now that they were happy. This boon meant they could never again have to do without anything. The Brahmin's satisfaction twinkled amidst the stars. At the moment, he was blissfully unaware of anyone else's sorrow or joy.

  He looked towards his wife and said, 'If we only had some cows and water buffaloes then we would really live life. The richest yoghurt and cream we could ever want would be ours!'

  'If we don't even have a proper house to live in, what good are cows and buffaloes. Besides a nice meadow, we'd need a pen and a barn to store their fodder. Then we would be set.'

  'With a boon like this, why just scrape by? We can live as we please!'

  Suddenly, a thought flashed through the Brahmin's mind like a live spark. 'What do you say we use this boon to play a trick on the Goddess? Of course, she can go around bringing us all these petty little household things. But what if we wish for something really spectacular? She'd bow down before me begging to take back Her words. Let's see... when I was young, my grandmother used to tell about a legendary palace, a palace made of gold. If I wished for something like that, then She'd come grovelling before me wringing Her hands like a street beggar. Seven generations of goddesses couldn't grant a wish like that. And if She can't fulfill her promise, that would look pretty bad, wouldn't it? But what difference does that make to me?'

  He made his wish as he lay there in bed, folding his hands in prayer. 'Hey Mother, oh Revered One,' he invoked, 'If you are good at your word, grant my wish to have a palace of gold, full of goldenware to match.'

  As soon as the words left his mouth his Golden Palace sprung up around him. He felt as if he had suddenly risen up in the air as he lay there. The loose weave of his cot had become taut and rigid underneath his back. Even his cot had turned to gold! He sat up, flabbergasted. Instead of his crumbling walls plastered in cow-dung, there shone bright yellow walls. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Had his impossible wish actually come true? His wife was standing nearby, gaping in astonishment. What magical stage fancy had they found themselves trapped in?

  She lit a golden lamp. They both stood next to the walls, feeling them and admiring their lustre. How could the Goddess be capable of this? He told his wife, 'If only we had asked for this first off! If She can give everyone in our land a pair of Golden Palaces, then this is just a pinch of salt!'

  The Brahmin's wife looked into some of their cupboards and found two or three of his pipes all turned to gold. Ah! Even the old clay ganja pot had turned to gold. The Brahmin filled his pipe and began to smoke. Then he had a coughing fit that lasted awhile. He really felt old now. If the Goddess had only come to her senses twenty years earlier, then his life would have been worth living. But now, how much longer did they have to enjoy such a palace? How many more nights, did they have to enjoy their pleasant nighttime dreams? The irony of receiving such a boon so late in life made it an agony rather than a pleasure. What was the use of a heavy monsoon shower when the crops had already withered and died?

  The Brahmin looked into his wife's familiar face and said, 'You're getting too old, my dear. A person should be youthful and fit to live in such a palace.'

  'Well, you look more decrepit than I do. Getting too old, you say. All I want is to leave this earth when you do. I ask for nothing more. I've seen the Golden Palace with my own eyes, so what more could I want? Hey, I have an idea. Can't the Goddess make us young again?'

  'Hey, why not? We can at least ask. But why didn't I think of this before? What's happening to my mind? Well, never mind. Better late than never.'

 
The moment he asked the Mother to be young again, their youth was restored. It would have been difficult for a person to even think up the fantastic game they were living. As if anyone could have ever known such unbounded joy! They were so much out of their minds with happiness that they never even thought of enjoying the pleasures their youthful bodies were capable of. The blissful night passed in the wink of an eye.

  The Brahmin got up at the first light of dawn and went outside. He said, 'I've got to see if the sun rises any differently on a day like today.'

  He climbed his golden staircase to the roof. All around he could see nothing but Golden Palaces! It looked as if the earth were covered with countless rising suns. He squinted in the brilliant light. Everyone else had two Golden Palaces while he had only one! And it was all due to him. He could suffer whatever trouble came his way, but the thought that he was responsible for other people's happiness... this was more than he could take. What fate could be worse?

  He felt trapped in a treacherous maze. The flames in his heart rose so high and strong that they would have scorched even the sun. The beasts in him that were his nature — the jackal, crow tiger and snake — caught fire. He began running around in circles, barking like a rabid dog. 'May one eye of mine go blind. May one eardrum of mine tear up. May a deep well be dug in front of my house!'

  As soon as he had finished yelling his wishes, his wife shrieked, 'Oh, Lord, what's happening? Did your fabulous palace disappear? Has the rising sun descended back into the earth?'

  He understood at once what this meant. His feet thudded down the stairs as he ran to her. His wife was feeling her way along the wall with her hand stretched out before her and was just at the doorway when he started shouting as loudly as he could. 'Stop! Stop right there! Don't take another step! There's a deep well right in front of you!'

  But the Brahmin's wife couldn't hear a word of what he said. She tumbled down into a pit before he even reached the bottom step. He heard her splash at the very bottom. His life partner had met her end, just in the bloom of her youth.

  He spent the day walking through every house in the area. In every village he reached, he looked around with his one good eye and saw people tumbling into their wells one by one. Before long every single person got finished off. He cackled like a demon. So pleased with their pair of Golden Palaces they had walked straight into Death's lap!

  Now he was the sole proprietor of these Golden Palaces. There was no one left to dispute it. Each night he slept in a different palace. There was no one left to receive twice as much as he had. So the Goddess had wanted to teach him a lesson! Well, he had used his powers of human reasoning against Her! He jumped in the air, threw his arms around and admired his palaces with his one good eye. Was there anyone on earth happier than he?

  If only there was someone left to see how happy he was!

  Translated by Christi Ann Merrill

  SINDHI

  The Statement

  Gobind Panjabi

  If you are a resident of Bombay, you must have some time or the other seen the railway bridge at Kurla. The railway bridge, extending from Kurla West to Kurla East is gigantic. It is a big slum area where there are no hutments as such but where thousands of people live. Each has occupied his own area and built his hutment-like house there. They cook and eat there. They conduct their business also there. They produce their children there. Some take to begging. Some go out in search of some work throughout the day. Some sell cheap wares there. In short, every one, after loitering all day, comes back to one's abode in the night. If some stranger occupies someone else's place then there is a big quarrel. Between the two, one would be wounded, or even die and the other would go to prison.

  India became independent forty years ago but still today, crores of people — homeless, unemployed and suffering from various contagious diseases are living a life of hell.

  In the corner of that Kurla bridge, there lived a young, dark and ugly girl. Apart from her black colour and ugliness, she was young and youth is after all youth. Tall, young and full-bodied, she used to get up early in the morning and start collecting papers, plastic pieces, torn bags and rags lying on the roads and in the evening, having filled her garbage bag she would hawk her wares and earn around ten rupees every day. After the day's hard work she did not like to cook food. She would buy two small loaves of bread and a cup of tea. After satisfying her hunger, she would lie down comfortably. She had to get up again at four in the morning and hence, as soon as she lay down, she was so much overcome by sleep, that she would never be aware of the babbling noises of thousands of people around her. Born in one such hutment she had grown up there. She did not know anything about her parents. She only remembered that since childhood she had been doing some work and labouring hard—labour sometimes for others and sometimes for herself. All her life she had known only hard work. That is why, by evening she would be bone-tired and hence as soon as she finished her food, she would go off to sleep.

  Quite late one night, she felt some one trying to molest her. First she felt some one's hands on her legs. She got up, startled and found that a stout person was trying to put her on the ground and rape her. There was no time to think. Mustering her courage, she kicked the man between his legs so powerfully that he let out a painful shriek and fell down. The girl's feet struck the genitals of the man with such force that he started bleeding.

  As soon as the man fell down, the girl got up and started running in fright, dashing against some people sleeping soundly. In no time several people had woken up from their slumber.

  Having noticed that a man was lying dead in a pool of blood, they started intuitively following the girl. The girl, having crossed the bridge from the West side, went into Nehru Nagar. She was tired after the run and began puffing heavily. At last she fell under a tree, exhausted. It was still dark. Having rested for a while she again started running. A policeman on night duty, thinking her to be a thief, caught hold of her.

  Once a young girl comes into the hold of the police, what happens to her is left to one's imagination.

  'Give your statement.' She was asked in the morning.

  The girl remained quiet.

  'Give your statement, otherwise we shall beat you.'

  Even then the girl remained quiet.

  The girl was brought before the magistrate on the charge that she had murdered a man on Kurla bridge.

  The Magistrate also asked the girl to give her statement.

  The girl, losing control over herself shouted: 'So many policemen have taken statements from my body You also need a statement? I have no statement to make. You may do whatever you want.'

  'But what have you done that the police has brought you here?" the Magistrate inquired with firmness.

  'I collect rags on the roads. I am a destitute and live on Kurla bridge. That night when I was sleeping peacefully someone tried to rape me and in order to save myself I made that man invalid with my kicks. That is all. That is my fault.'

  The Magistrate, considering the youth and age of the girl, took mercy on her and sent her to prison only for seven years.

  The Claim

  Narain Bharati

  'Brother, who gives claim here?' Joharmal asked of those standing in the veranda of the Camp No. 2 office.

  'Uncle, no one gives claim; the claim is to be put in.' Smiling at the innocence of Joharmal, one of the men remarked.

  'Uncle, come here.' Beckoning him, one of the persons sitting with the typist said, 'I am also putting in the claim. This officer is typing it out.'

  'Brother, we don't even know how a claim is to be put in. My son studies in an English school. But here the officers have their own requirements. Later on they will say that this is not done, that is not done. That is why I said, when there are so many other expenses, writing charges of a rupee or two by this officer will not make us poorer.'

  'Come and sit here,' one of the persons beckoned to Joharmal.

  'Oh! God.' Sitting on the bench Joharmal said, 'Yesterday M
anikamal was saying that the government will give compensation for the property left behind, that is why government is getting it in writing to assess how much is left. I thought, since we have forsaken so much property, why not give it in writing?' Taking out a bidi from his pocket Joharmal said. 'Brother! Do you think the government will count money and give cash? These are all only estimates; but every one is in a fix. If we don't give in writing and then by good luck, if the money is paid, then everyone will taunt and curse us. So let us remove this anxiety, then whatever is destined will happen. Even if we don't get anything we shall not be worse off than what we are now,' said one of the older men.

  The typist continued typing and simultaneously kept on murmuring. 'The public road in the West, Khanmohomad's building towards East, the caravansarai of Seth Phagunmal. In the North — the area three thousand sq. feet, two storyed —Then he turned his eyes at the people sitting there. One by one, he typed the claim forms of all. Then, turning to Joharmal he asked, 'Yes Sir! Now you tell me.'

  'Brother, whatever you ask me I shall answer. We have left our world, our honour, our friendships; everything of ours is left there. When will God have mercy on us that we shall again inhabit our homes?'

  'Yes, uncle, what is your name?'

  'Name? Sir, my name is Joharmal.'

  The typist, making a sound of tick.... tick on the typewriter repeated, 'Joharmal...Yes, uncle....Joharmal....son of?'

  'Joharmal son of Bhai Wasiomal.' The typist again began typing and asked, 'What is your surname?'

  'Nangdev.'

  The typist typed it. 'Okay. Where did you stay in Pakistan? Which taluka and district?'

  'All right. Village Halla, Taluka Kamber, District Larkana.' The typist kept on typing. 'Have you brought the details of your property?'

  'What details?'

  'Details, such as, how many acres of land, how many houses and their location, total area and the estimated value? Whether the land was leasehold or outright purchase? If it was purchased, for how much? For proof have you got any documents or receipts from the Revenue Officer for the payment of taxes? What was the total value of the land? All these details are required.'