A Winter's Night and Other Stories

by Premchand

  Vanshidhar could sense that the law would not be fair to him. This was a court of law, but its officials were under the influence of prejudice. What do law and prejudice have in common? Nothing. The case was immediately dismissed. The Deputy Magistrate wrote in his order:‘The proofs presented against Pandit Alopideen are baseless and false. He is a great man. It is beyond one’s imagination that a man like him would do any such thing for small, petty profit. Although it is not fully Inspector Vanshidhar’s fault either, it is a matter of regret that his thoughtlessness and arrogance have put a good man to so much trouble. While we are happy that he is so conscientious about his work, the corruption in the Salt Department has made him act in this thoughtless way. He needs to be more careful in future.’

  The lawyers heard the verdict and jumped with joy. A smiling Alopideen came out of the court. His well-wishers had thrown money about. A sea of generosity had sprung up. Its waves had shaken the foundations of justice. When Vanshidhar stepped out of the court, he was met with a rain of sarcasm. The peons bent low in mock obedience. But at this moment, every cruel word, every unkind gesture simply fed the fire of pride burning inside him. Had he won the case, he might not have walked with such pride as he displayed now. Today he could sense something sadly lacking in the world around him. Law and learning, the grand-sounding titles, the long beards, the flowing robes—nothing seemed fit to deserve true respect.

  Vanshidhar had taken up the fight against Wealth; it was necessary that he pay the price for it. In less than a week, his suspension orders arrived. He was punished for following his duty. Heartbroken, overcome with sadness and regret, he returned home. His father had been grumbling for days: ‘Despite all the lectures he has not paid heed. In my old age, I have to listen to the grocer and the moneylender while he wants to live only on his salary and refuses extra income. After all, I also worked. I didn’t occupy a high position, but I worked and did my best. Look at him—he wants to be honest! It’s a case of wanting to light a lamp in the mosque when there is darkness at home! I pity such thinking. What a waste of all that study and learning!’

  When Vanshidhar was suspended and returned home, the poor old father was, at first, regretful at the loss of his son’s job. Then he said so many harsh things that had Vanshidhar not removed himself from the spot, his anger would have known no bounds. His mother was sad too. Her dream of going on pilgrimage to Jagannath and Rameshwar now lay shattered.

  A week passed. It was evening. Vanshidhar’s father sat counting the Lord’s name on his beads when a gaily decorated chariot stopped at their door. It had green and pink curtains and a pair of handsome bullocks with copper-coated horns pulling it. Several servants with stout sticks on their shoulders accompanied it. Pandit Alopideen alighted and stood in the doorway. Vanshidhar’s father ran to greet him, bending low and talking sweetly all the while. ‘It is our great good fortune that you havecome to our home. We are so ashamed that we cannot even look up at you. What are we to do? We are unfortunate in having this good-for-nothing son. God should have left us childless instead of giving us such a son.’

  Alopideen said, ‘No, no, brother, don’t say such things.’

  Munshi ji expressed surprise, ‘What else can I say about such a son?’

  Alopideen spoke in loving tones, ‘There are so many righteous people in the world who have sacrificed everything for the sake of bringing a good name to their family.’

  Then Pandit Alopideen addressed Vanshidhar, ‘Please don’t take my words for flattery. I need not take all this trouble just to please you. That night you had taken me under arrest because you had the right to do so; today I have come to you of my own free will. I have seen thousands of wealthy people and have dealt with many officials. I managed to turn them all into my slaves. But you are the only person who has defeated me. Allow me to make a humble request.’

  Vanshidhar had got up to greet Alopideen the moment he had seen him approaching, but his gesture had been marked with dignity. He thought Alopideen had come to taunt and mock him. He had made no attempt at offering an apology. He found his father’s fawning hard to tolerate. He glanced quickly in Panditji’s direction and found goodwill written all over his face. Pride was replaced by embarrassment and made Vanshidhar bow his head. A little shyly, he said, ‘It is your generosity that makes you say this. I apologise for my brashness and bad manners. I was chained by my sense of duty, or else I am your slave. Your wish is my command.’

  Alopideen spoke with humility, ‘At the riverbank that night you wouldn’t listen to my request, but today you must.’

  Vanshidhar said, ‘I can be of no use to you now, but whatever I can do for you, I promise to do wholeheartedly.’

  Alopideen took out a stamped paper and put it before Vanshidhar. ‘Please accept this post and sign on this document. I am a Brahmin, and till you fulfil my request I shall not move from your doorstep.’

  Munshi Vanshidhar read the paper and his eyes filled up with tears of gratitude. Pandit Alopideen had appointed him as permanent manager of all his properties. An annual salary of six thousand rupees, a daily allowance, a horse to ride on, a bungalow to live in, and plenty of servants at no extra cost! Moved, Vanshidhar spoke in a trembling voice, ‘Panditji, I don’t have the ability to sufficiently praise your generosity. But I am not fit to occupy such a high post.’

  Alopideen laughed and said, ‘At this moment I need an unfit person like you!’

  Vanshidhar spoke in a serious tone now, ‘I am your devoted servant. It would be my great good fortune to serve a well-known, well-regarded person such as you. But I have neither intelligence, learning nor the temperament that make up for my shortcomings. For such an important post you need an experienced person.’

  Alopideen took a pen out of a pen-stand and handed it toVanshidhar saying, ‘I need neither bookish learning, nor experience, nor efficiency. I have seen enough proof of the importance of these qualities. Now by a stroke of good fortune and good timing, I have come across that pearl in front of which ability and learning fades. Take this pen and without any further ado, sign on this document. My only prayer to the Almighty God is that may you always remain that dry, brash, harsh but disciplined and high-minded inspector that I saw beside the river.’

  Vanshidhar’s eyes became wet with tears. His heart could not contain the kindness shown by Alopideen. He looked once again towards Panditji with respect and admiration. Then, with a trembling hand, he signed on the document.

  A delighted Alopideen embraced Vanshidhar.

  3

  Kaki

  It is said that old age marks a return to childhood. In the case of the elderly Kaki, there was nothing to look forward to except the next meal, and no other means of drawing attention to her troubles except crying. She could neither hear nor walk. She would simply lie on the ground and cry if someone in the family did something to displease her, or her food was given to her either late or not enough for her needs, or someone bought something to eat from the market and failed to share it with her. Her crying was no ordinary crying; she would wail loudly and persistently like a baby.

  Her husband had died a long time ago. Her sons too had died. Now she had no one except a nephew to whom she had signed away all her property. At that time, the nephew had made all sorts of promises, but those promises had turned out to be nothing but empty words. Even though her property brought an annual income of about 150–200 rupees, poor Kaki was barely given enough to fill her stomach. It is not easy to decide whether the fault lay with the nephew, Pandit Budhiram, or his wife, Rupa. Budhiram was a good-natured man but only as long as there was no danger to his money. Rupa was a strict but god-fearing woman. And so, Kaki never disliked Rupa’s harshness as much as she did Budhiram’s seeming goodness.

  Sometimes Budhiram regretted his bad treatment of Kaki. He knew it was her wealth that allowed him to live like a gentleman. If mere words could do anything to help Kaki, he would have had no problem in making empty gestures, but the thought of having to take any
real trouble on her behalf made him bury his good thoughts. So much so, that if he had guests in the house and Kaki happened to start crying and wailing, he would scold her bitterly. Boys tend to be cruel to old people, and especially when they see their parents being unkind to elders they take great pleasure in troubling the elderly. One of Budhiram’s boys would pinch her and run away, another would spit water at her. At such times, Kaki would scream loudly and start crying. But everyone knew that she kept her special sort of crying only for food. So no one gave any attention to her suffering. It was only when Kaki got very angry and started swearing and cursing the boys would Rupa come to the scene. Kaki seldom used her tongue. Little did she know that her words were far more effective than her tears.

  In the entire world, if there was anyone that Kaki loved, it was Budhiram’s younger daughter, Ladli. Scared that her brothers would snatch away her sweets and snacks, Ladli would sit beside Kaki to enjoy her treats. Kaki would beg her to share some of the sweets and Ladli, hiding from her brothers, would always agree.

  II

  It was night. The flute-players were playing their flutes at Budhiram’s door and an eager crowd of boys stood about enjoying the music. Guests were relaxing on charpoys. The village barbers were giving them massages. A bhaat stood nearby reciting an epic poem and looking as though he and not the original poet deserved the applause from the guests. The few educated young men in that crowd stood about looking bored. Being English-educated, they considered it beneath their dignity to be a part of this village gathering.

  It was the engagement ceremony of Budhiram’s elder son, Mukhram. Inside the house, women were singing auspicious songs and Rupa was busy making preparations for the guests. Food was being cooked over large fires. In one pan, puri and kachori were being fried, in another more delicacies. Spicy vegetables were being cooked in another large pot. The smell of ghee and spices was all over the place.

  Kaki sat in her small cell-like room. The smell of freshly cooked tasty food was making her restless. She was thinking, ‘Perhaps there won’t be any puris left for me. It’s so late and no one has come to give me my dinner. It looks like everyone has eaten. Nothing has been left for me.’ The thought made her want to cry but fear that it would be seen as inauspicious on such an occasion made her control her tears.

  ‘Aah! What a fragrance! But no one shall bother about me. When they barely give me enough to eat on ordinary days, why will they bother to feed me puris?’ Again, the tears welled up. Again, she controlled them. Fear of Rupa’s scolding made her stay quiet.

  For a long time, Kaki was lost in her sad thoughts. The delicious fragrance was making her mouth water. The imagined taste of those puris filled her with delight. Oh, who could she call out for? Even Ladli hadn’t come to see her today. The boys who tormented her every day were not to be seen. If only someone were to show up, she would ask the names of the dishes that were being cooked.

  The picture of those puris began to dance in her imagination. Surely, they must be soft, puffed, perfectly round and nicely done to an almost-red colour. Rupa must have fed her guests well. The kachoris must be smelling of spices and cardamom. If only she could get even one puri; she would hold it in her hand and see for herself. Why not go and sit beside the fire, she decided. The puris must have been just taken out of the oil. They would be placed on trays while still hot and steaming. After all, we can smell the flowers inside the house but going to a garden to smell them fresh is an altogether different experience. Having made up her mind, she got up on her haunches and with the help of her hands, got down a couple of steps and crawled all the way to where the food was being cooked. Once there, she experienced the same patience that a hungry dog feels when he sits facing someone who is eating.

  At that moment, Rupa was buried under work. She was running from one room to another. She would go to check on the food, then run to get something or the other from her store. Someone came running and said, ‘The guests are asking for thandai.’ She ran to fetch the thandai. Another person came and said, ‘The bhaat has come; give him something to eat.’ She began taking out food for the bhaat when a third person came and said, ‘Will it take long for the food to be ready? If so, why don’t you get us the musical instruments? Let’s have some music till then.’

  The poor woman was managing on her own. All that running around had made her tired, irritable, even angry but she didn’t have the time or occasion to express her anger. She was scared that the neighbourhood women would taunt her for losing her cool so easily. Her throat was parched with thirst. The heat was making things worse. Yet, she didn’t have a moment’s respite to either take a sip of water or fan herself with a hand-fan. There was also the fear that the servants would start stealing if she slackened the least bit. In these circumstances, the moment she saw Kaki sitting beside the fire, she blew a fuse! She could now no longer contain her anger. She didn’t even stop to think what the neighbourhood women would say, or what the men sitting outside would make of it. She jumped on Kaki the way a frog pounces on an earthworm. Holding her with both hands, she screamed, ‘I have never seen an appetite like yours. Do you have a stomach or a raging fire inside you? Why couldn’t you have stayed in your room? The guests haven’t eaten yet, the gods haven’t been offered bhog, but you don’t have the patience to wait your turn. Must you come here and sit in the middle of everything? May you burn your tongue one day! You eat all day long yet there is no satisfying you. People say we don’t give you enough to eat and that is why you go around with your tongue lolling out all day long. The witch doesn’t ever die or leave us alone! She is bent on getting us a bad name. What will people think! She eats so much, yet no one knows where it goes. If you know what is good for you, go and sit quietly in your room. When the guests have eaten and the family starts to eat, you too shall be given your food. You aren’t exactly a goddess that you must be served before everyone else.’

  Kaki did not raise her head. She neither cried nor uttered a word. She quietly crawled her way back to her room. Every one of poor Kaki’s mental and physical abilities was drawn only towards Rupa’s harsh voice. There was no room for anything else or any other thought. When a tree growing beside a riverbank falls into the river, water rushes from all sides to cover that spot.

  III

  The food was ready. Leaf-plates were laid out and the guests began to eat. The women began to sing wedding songs. The barbers and servants accompanying the guests were also served, but they sat some distance away. Good manners dictated that no one could get up and leave till everyone had finished eating. A few guests, who were a little educated, were irritated at the servants taking so long to finish. They were fretting over this needless delay.

  Filled with regret, Kaki sat in her room. She felt no anger towards Rupa; she was saddened by her own hastiness. ‘Rupa was right: family is served only after all the guests have eaten. Why couldn’t I have waited? Such humiliation in front of everyone! Now I shall not go, not till someone comes to get me.’

  And so she waited for the call. But the fragrance of ghee was testing her patience. Every minute seemed like an age. She imagined every detail of the scene unfolding downstairs: The leaf-plates would have been laid out by now. The guests would have come. They would be washing their hands and feet. The barbers would be pouring water for them. People would have sat down to eat. She could hear the women sing. To keep herself occupied, she too lay down for a while and began to hum the words of the songs being sung below. She felt she had been singing for a long time. Surely, the guests wouldn’t be eating for so long. There was no sound to be heard. They must have eaten and gone by now, she thought. No one has come to call me. Rupa is angry; she might not call me at all. Or, perhaps, she thinks that I should come on my own; after all, I am not a guest that I need to be invited.

  Kaki prepared herself to crawl. The very thought that in the next couple of minutes the spicy vegetables and puris would be in her hands excited her. She began making all sorts of grand plans: First, I shall eat the
puris with the vegetables, then with curds and sugar. The kachori would go so well with the raita. Let people think what they want, I shall keep asking for extra helpings. What will people say? That I don’t have any manners? Let them. After all, I am going to get puris to eat after so long. I am not going to get up after barely tasting them just for the sake of good manners.

  She sat on her haunches and, crawling with the help of her hands, she reached the courtyard. But what bad luck! As always, Hope had misjudged Time. The guests were still seated. Those who had finished eating sat about licking their fingers. Some looked about to check whether others were still eating or not. Some worried that the few puris still left on their leaf-plates would go waste if they were somehow not gobbled up. Some licked their lips after finishing off the curds but hesitated to ask for more. While all this was going on, Kaki crawled her way bang into the middle of it all. Several men jumped out of her way in surprise. Someone called out, ‘Who is this old woman? Where has she sprung up from? Watch out! She might touch someone!’

  Pandit Budhiram flew into a rage at the very sight of Kaki. He had been standing holding a tray of puris. He dumped the tray on the ground and pounced on Kaki the way a cruel moneylender jumps on a dishonest creditor who might run away if not caught by the throat. He grabbed Kaki with both hands, dragged her to her room and dumped her with a loud thump.