by Premchand
Sammi said, ‘But you only have three paise; what can you buy with that?’
Ahmad said, ‘Come and take some gulab jamun from me; Mohsin is being naughty.’
Hamid said, ‘Sweets aren’t supposed to be good for us; the books say so.’
Mohsin said, ‘I am sure in your heart you are thinking: “I will eat them if I get them!” Why don’t you take out your money?’
Mehmood said, ‘I understand his cleverness. He will buy things when we have finished all our money and eat them while making us look on greedily.’
After the sweet shops, there were some shops selling metal things and others selling fake jewellery. There was nothing here to interest the boys. They moved on, but Hamid stood at an iron shop. He could see several iron tongs on display. His grandmother didn’t have a tong. She invariably burnt her fingers while taking the roti off the fire. How pleased she would be if he were to buy her a tong. And she would never burn her fingers again. Moreover, there would be something of use in the house. What good are toys? Nothing but a waste of money! They give only momentary happiness. After some time you don’t even look at them. Or else they break by the time you reach home. The tong, on the other hand, is a most useful thing. It helps you take the rotis off the pan and cook them directly over the fire. If someone comes to ask you for some live coals, you can pick them up from the fire. Poor Amma never has the time to go to the market to buy such things, nor does she have the money. She burns her hand every day.
Hamid’s friends had gone ahead. They had stopped beside a sherbet stall and were drinking sherbet. Look, how greedy they are! They bought so many sweets but did not give me even one! And then they ask me to play with them! Or do things for them! Now if they ask me to do anything I will say: Go and eat more sweets and get sick and greedy. They will get sores on their tongues and get a taste for eating out. They will steal money and get beaten up by their fathers. After all, the books don’t have false things written in them. I won’t fall ill. Amma will see the tong and run to take it from my hand. She will give me thousands of blessings and show it to the neighbourhood women. Everyone in the village will talk about it. Everyone will say Hamid is a good boy. And these boys? Who will praise them, or give blessings? The blessings of your elders go straight to Allah and are heard instantly. I don’t have money. That is why Mohsin and Mehmood bully me so. I shall also bully them now. Let them eat their sweets and play with their toys. I shall not eat their sweets, nor be bullied by them. I may be poor but I don’t go asking anybody for anything. After all, one day my parents will return. Then I shall ask these boys how many toys they want from me? I shall give baskets full of toys to each one of them and teach them how to share with friends. Not buy one-paisa-worth of rewri and tease others while eating it all alone! They shall laugh at my tongs. Let them!
He asked the shopkeeper, ‘How much for the tongs?’
The shopkeeper looked at him and finding no grown up with the boy said, ‘It’s of no use to you.’
‘Is it for sale or not?’
‘Why wouldn’t it be for sale? Why else would I bring it here?’
‘Then why don’t you tell me: How much does it cost?’
‘It will cost six paise.’
Hamid’s heart sank.
‘Tell the final price.’
‘The final price is five paise—take it or leave it.’
Hamid gathered all his courage and asked, ‘Will you take three paise?’
Saying this, he walked on, fearing that the shopkeeper would taunt and abuse him. But the man did nothing of the sort; instead he called Hamid back and gave him the tong. Hamid put the tong against his shoulder as though it was a gun and began to march proudly towards his friends. He was ready to hear their criticisms.
Mohsin laughed and said, ‘Why have you bought a pair of tongs, you fool? What will you do with it?’
Hamid threw his tong on the ground and said, ‘Try throwing your water carrier down and watch it break into little pieces.’
Mehmood said, ‘But a tong isn’t a toy!’
Hamid retorted, ‘Why not? Put it on your shoulder, it becomes a gun. Hold it in your hand, it becomes a fakir’s instrument. If I want I can use it like a musical instrument. With one touch, it can break all your toys, whereas your toys can’t do a thing to my tong. My tong is my brave lion!’
Sammi had bought a small tambourine. Impressed by the tong, he said, ‘Will you exchange it with my tambourine?’
Hamid looked at the tambourine with displeasure and said, ‘My tong can burst your tambourine’s belly, if it wants. After all, what is it? Nothing but a bit of animal skin pasted to make a dub-dub sound. A little bit of water can destroy it. My brave tong can survive fire, water, storm and hail.’
Everyone was attracted by the tong, but they had spent all their money. Moreover, they had left the shops far behind. It was already nine; the sun was getting hotter and everyone was in a hurry to get back home. Even if they ask their father for more money, they won’t be allowed to buy tongs! Hamid is a clever little fellow! Now we know why he kept his money safe for so long!
IV
The boys were split into two camps. Mohsin, Mehmood, Noore and Sammi were on one side and Hamid was all alone on the other. A battle of wills began. Sammi changed his mind and joined the other camp. Mohsin, Mehmood and Noore were two–three years older than Hamid but they couldn’t match Hamid’s wits. He had the strength of justice and the power of arguments on his side. There was clay on one side, iron on the other. One is breakable, the other unbreakable. If a lion were to show up at this minute, the water carrier would melt in fright, the soldier would drop his gun and run away, the lawyer would be so frightened he would hide under his robe and roll on the ground, but this pair of tongs—it would bravely pounce on the lion and gouge its eyes out.
Mohsin tried his best, then came up with the following argument:‘But no matter how hard it tries, it can’t fill water.’
Hamid stood the tongs upright and said, ‘It will give one rap to the water carrier and the water carrier will go running to fetch water.’
Mohsin accepted defeat. But Mehmood said, ‘If your tong gets arrested, it will be handcuffed and brought to the court. Then it will have to fall at the lawyer’s feet.’
Hamid had no answer to this powerful argument. He said, ‘But who will come to arrest my tong?’
Noore answered proudly, ‘My soldier will, with his gun!’
Hamid made a face and said, ‘This poor thing will try and arrest my brave lionheart? All right, let’s put them together in a wrestling match. Your soldier will take one look at my tong and run away, forget making an arrest!’
Mohsin thought of a new form of attack, ‘Your tong will burn its face every day in the fire.’
He had thought Hamid would have no answer. But that didn’t happen. Hamid came up with an instant answer, ‘Only the brave jump into the fire. Your soldiers, lawyers and water carriers can’t do that. Only the bravest of the braves can jump into the fire.’
Mehmood tried once again. ‘The lawyer will sit on a table and chair, while your tong will lie on the kitchen floor.’
This argument put new life in Sammi and Noore. What a sensible thing to say! What can a pair of tongs do except lie about on the kitchen floor?
When Hamid could think of no suitable answer right away, he resorted to strong-arm tactics. He said, ‘My tong will not lie on the kitchen floor; it will go and throw the lawyer off his chair and stuff his law into his stomach!’
This had the desired impact on his audience, even though that bit about stuffing the law in the lawyer’s belly made no sense. The three warriors on the other side stared. Law was something that people spouted, not something that could be stuffed inside their stomachs. Still, the newness of the argument won them over. Hamid was the undisputed warrior in this battle of words. Mohsin, Mehmood, Noore and Sammi had no objection in accepting the fact that his tong was the bravest of the braves.
Hamid got the respec
t that the winner receives from the defeated. They had spent three to four annas, yet bought nothing of any use. But Hamid had made his mark with just three paise. He was right: What good are toys? They break. Hamid’s tong will last forever.
Terms of truce began to be offered. Mohsin said, ‘Give me your tong for some time; you can play with my water carrier.’
Mehmood and Noore offered their toys too.
Hamid had no objections to these peace offerings. The tong went from one pair of hands to another, and one by one the toys were given to Hamid. They were such pretty toys!
Hamid consoled the defeated party. ‘I was only teasing you. How can this poor iron tong compete with your toys?’
But these words of consolation brought no satisfaction to Mohsin’s party.
Mohsin said, ‘But no one will give us blessings for these toys.’
Mehmood said, ‘Forget blessings, we shall be given a beating. Amma will say: “Could you find nothing except these clay toys in the entire fair?’’’
Hamid had to accept that no one could be as pleased at the sight of the toys as his grandmother would be by the tong. Three paise were all he had and he had not the slightest regret about the manner in which he had spent his money. Especially now that his tong had been declared the bravest of the braves and the undisputed king of toys.
Mehmood grew hungry on the way. His father gave him bananas to eat. Mehmood shared them only with Hamid. The other boys could only look on. Such was the miraculous effect of the tong!
V
Excitement ran through the village by eleven o’clock: People had returned from the fair! Mohsin’s younger sister ran to grab the water carrier from his hand. She jumped with joy, the water carrier fell to the ground and broke. This led to a bitter fight between the brother and sister. Both cried. Their mother heard the commotion, scolded them and gave them both two slaps each.
Noore’s lawyer found a more honourable end befitting an eminent person such as a lawyer. A lawyer can’t sit on the floor or in a wall niche. After all, due respect must be paid to his high station. Therefore, two nails were dug into the wall. A wooden plank was balanced on them. A paper carpet was laid on the plank. And there sat the lawyer like a king sits on his throne. Noore began to fan him with a handheld fan. After all, a lawyer is used to electric fans and cool khus mats in the court. He had to be fanned here too, lest the heat of the law got to his brain! Noore fetched a weed fan and began to fan the lawyer. God knows, whether it was the current of air caused by the fanning or a slight touch from the fan itself, but the lawyer fell to the ground from his high pedestal. There was a great mourning and finally the broken bits of the lawyer were thrown on the garbage heap.
Mehmood’s soldier was still left. He was given charge of guarding the village. But a soldier is no ordinary thing that he can walk on his own feet. He would go about on a palanquin! A basket was brought. A few old red rags were spread inside it. The soldier rested on them. Noore picked up the basket and began to go round and round his house. His two younger brothers trailed behind him, shouting, ‘All you who sleep, stay awake, stay awake!’ Mehmood stumbled and fell. The basket fell down and the soldier too came tumbling down and broke its leg. Mehmood discovered what a good doctor he could be! He stuck the leg back with a bit of gum from the gular tree but the moment the soldier got to his feet, the leg gave way again. When this operation proved unsuccessful, it was decided that the other leg must be broken too. Now, at least the soldier could sit in peace in one place; with one leg he could neither walk nor sit. From a soldier it became a hermit. It would keep guard from one place only. Sometimes, it could pose as a god too. Its turban was scratched away so it could become whatever one wanted it to be. Sometimes it was used as a measuring weight in a weighing scale!
Now listen to Hamid’s tale. Ameena had come running out when she had heard his voice. She pulled him in her lap and began kissing him. Suddenly, she spotted the tong in his hands and stopped.
‘Where did this come from?’
‘I bought it.’
‘For how much?’
‘I gave three paise for it.’
Ameena wailed with disbelief. What a silly, innocent child! It is almost noon and he hasn’t eaten or drunk a thing. And what has he bought? A pair of tongs!
‘Could you find nothing else to buy in the entire fair?’
Hamid answered guiltily, ‘Your fingers get burnt when you take the rotis off the fire; that’s why I bought it.’
In an instant, the old lady’s anger turned into love, and not the sort of love that can be boldly expressed through words. It was a silent, mute love, solid yet filled with the nectar of sweetness. She was amazed at the child’s goodness, intelligence and self-control. He had thought of buying something for her when all the other children were buying sweets and toys! How had he controlled himself? Even there, in the fair, he was only thinking of his old grandmother! Ameena’s heart overflowed with joy.
And then a strange thing happened. Stranger than Hamid’s tong. Young Hamid had played the role of a much older man. Now old Ameena turned into a child. She began to cry. She spread the corners of her dupatta wide and continued blessing him as big drops of tears fell from her eyes. Hamid could not understand the strange change in his grandmother.
Translator’s Note
Premchand died in 1936. Yet seven decades after his death his stories still speak to us. Some might seem a little ‘preachy’ or moralistic to modern readers, even sentimental, but they touch us in a way that cannot be ignored. They appeal to all that is good and decent in us; all that is moved by exploitation, injustice and intolerance. It is this quality that single-handedly makes Premchand relevant to readers today. Premchand’s greatness also lies in the fact that he does not merely tell a story or present a picture of human tragedy or hold up a mirror to society; he tries to find solutions to the social ills he describes. If you look carefully for the clues, you can find them, sometimes hidden between the lines.
This selection has been made especially for young readers of the age group twelve to fifteen years. While it is true that Premchand wrote many stories either about children or suitable for children, in putting together this collection I did not consciously set out to collect only children’s stories. My intention here is to introduce you to the world of Premchand that is actually very much like the world you live in. As you read these stories, you will be shocked and surprised to spot the similarities. Greed, corruption, exploitation, honesty, dishonesty, poverty—they exist in some form or the other in every age and in every world. Some of you may have older relatives such as Kaki at home, though you may not be as beastly to her as her family is. Most of you have no doubt, at some point or the other, known the terror of examinations, as poor Bade Bhai Saheb (Big Brother) does, though you may or may not have flunked as many times as him! You may have experienced double standards and felt the pain that comes with knowing that life can sometimes be unfair—as Gangi, Halku and Mangal do in these pages.
Translating Premchand is not without its pitfalls. What is perfectly acceptable in the Urdu/Hindi original can sound bungling, awkward or plain awful in English. Faithfulness to text at the cost of readability can be a foolhardy thing. Just as sacrificing closeness to the original merely in order to gain more ‘acceptability’ from the modern reader—in this case young readers—too can be a tricky business. I have tried, therefore, to keep the language simple, the sentences short and crisp. The footnotes and Glossary will help to clear any doubts you might have and shed more light on words you may not be familiar with.
I sincerely hope you will not be depressed or disheartened by these stories. I hope you will appreciate—as I have learnt after reading Premchand over and over again—that good and bad exist side by side. The world has never been empty of kind people, of those who think of others, and those who love unquestioningly. The orphan Hamid who chose a pair of iron tongs for his grandmother instead of sweets and toys for himself, little Ladli who set aside her share of puris
for old Kaki, Pandit Alopideen who showed generosity for a fallen opponent, Jhuri who loved his oxen as though they were his children—help to restore our faith in the goodness of human beings.
December 2006 Rakhshanda Jalil
Rakhshanda Jalil works as Media and Cultural Coordinator at Jamia Millia Islamia. She is the translator of a collection of short stories by Premchand entitled The Temple and the Mosque (Harper Collins, 1992); a monograph on Urdu satirist Rasheed Ahmad Siddiqui (Sahitya Akademi, 1995); Urdu Stories (Srishti, 2002); Lies: Half Told (Srishti, 2002), Black Borders (Rupa & Co. , 2003); Through the Closed Doorway (Rupa & Co. , 2004); Circle and Other Stories (Rupa & Co. , 2004); essays on the lesser-known monuments of Delhi called Invisible City (Niyogi Publishers, forthcoming); and a collection of Manto’s short stories (Roli Books, forthcoming). She has also co-authored, along with Prof Mushirul Hasan, a history of the Jamia called Partners in Freedom (Niyogi Publishers, 2006).
OTHER BOOKS IN THE SERIES
An Autobiography or the Story of My Experiments with Truth, (abridged), M. K. Gandhi
Boyhood Days, Rabindranath Tagore
Making a Mango Whistle, Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhyay