Read my translation of Premchand's short story 'Gulli-Danda'.
Gulli-Danda
Our English-knowing
friends may or may not agree, but I must say that gulli-danda is the king of sports. Even today whenever I see boys
playing gulli-danda I start rolling
in delight and feel like joining them. No need of a lawn, or a shinguard, or a
net, or a bat. Just cut a small branch from a tree and chip a small piece off
it to make a gulli, and you begin to
play even with just two people. The problem with Vilayati games is that their kits are very expensive. Unless you
spend at least a hundred rupees you can’t be counted as a player. And here is gulli-danda for which you spend nothing,
yet can have all the fun. But we are so enamoured of English things that we
have lost all interest in our own. In the schools they charge three to four
rupees each year as games fees. But no one thinks of introducing Indian games that
can be played without spending anything. The English games are meant for those
who have money. Why force these on the poor? True, that a shot of gulli-danda can smash your eye. In the
same way a cricket ball can break your head, or damage your ligament, or break
your leg. If I still carry a scar on my forehead from gulli-danda, many of my friends have exchanged their bats for
crutches. Well, it all depends on your interest. For me it is gulli-danda, and some of my sweetest memories are associated with
this game: To come out early in the morning, to climb a tree to cut a few
branches and chisel out the gullis
and dandas, that excitement and
involvement, that drove of players, that batting and fielding, those fights,
that innocence in which differences between the touchable and untouchable,
between the rich and the poor disappeared, where there was no room for pretension, or display of one’s wealth, or pride – all
this would be forgotten only... The family are angry; father is expending his
anger on food; mother, who cannot think beyond the household, is of the view that
my bleak future is rocking like a sinking boat. And here I am busy sending my
opponents on a gulli chase, not
caring to wash myself, or eat. A gulli
is so small, but it is packed with the sweetness of all the sweets and
pleasures of all the shows of the world.
Among my playmates was
a boy named Gaya. He was elder to me by two-three years ⎼ thin, tall, fingers thin and long like a monkey’s, and also its quickness and restlessness. The gulli might be of any shape, he pounced
upon it like a lizard at an insect. I didn’t know whether his parents were
alive, or where he lived or what he ate but he was a champion player of our gulli-danda club. The team for which he
played was sure to win. On seeing him come we would dash towards him and urge
him join our team.
source: blogs.tribune.com.pk
One day I and Gaya were
playing. He was batting and I was fielding. Isn’t it strange that we can enjoy
batting the whole day but don’t like to field even for a minute. I tried all
the tricks to wriggle out, all those that are excusable in such a situation,
though being outside the rule book. But Gaya was not willing to let me go
without completing his batting.
When my requests were
of no avail I deserted the field and ran homewards. Gaya ran after and caught
me; and flourishing the danda, said,
‘Go only after I have completed my batting. You were enjoying while I was
fielding, and now you are running away when it is my turn to bat.’
‘If you keep batting
the whole day, should I keep fielding?’
‘Yes. You’ll have to go
on for the whole day.’
‘And without food and
water?’
‘Yes, you can’t go
until I have had my turn.’
‘Am I your slave?’
‘Yes, you are.’
‘I’m going home. Let me
see how you stop me.’
‘How can you go home?
It’s no joke. You have had your turn. Now I must have mine.’
‘Ok, yesterday I had
given you a guava to eat. Give it back to me.’
‘That’s gone into my
tummy.’
‘Take it out. Why did
you eat it?’
‘I ate it because you
gave it. I didn’t ask for it.’
‘I won’t field until
you return my guava.’
I thought justice
was on my side. I must have given him that guava out of some selfish motive. Who acts without self-interest? People give even alms out of
selfishness. So if Gaya had eaten my guava he had no right to ask me to field.
People even suck your blood after bribing you. And this fellow has eaten my
guava without wanting to give anything in return. I had bought five guavas for
one paisa; which even Gaya’s father won’t be able to afford. He was being
unjust through and through.
Gaya dragged me towards
himself and said, ‘I want my turn. I don’t care about your guava or whatever.’
I had justice on my
side and he was bent upon being unjust. I wanted to run away but he won’t let
me go. I swore at him and he retorted with a dirtier swear word, and even
slapped me. I bit him with my teeth. He hit me with the danda. I stared crying. Gaya couldn’t stand against this weapon of
mine and ran. I wiped my tears quickly and forgot the hit and went home
laughing. I the son of a thanedaar
was beaten up by a low caste boy! I felt humiliated but I didn’t talk about it
to anyone at home.
2
Then my father was
transferred out. I was so thrilled at the idea of seeing the new place that I
felt no regret at losing my companions. Father was unhappy. Here the income was good. Mother was unhappy
because everything was cheaper here, and she had become friendly with the
neighbourhood women. But I was happy. I was bragging to my friends. There the houses are different, touching the
skies. There if a teacher in the English medium school beat up a boy he would
be sent to jail. The wide-open eyes and wonder-struck faces of my friends were
telling me how high I had risen in their esteem. The power the children have
to turn the fanciful into he real can’t be appreciated by us who can change a
truth into falsehood. The poor fellows were feeling envious of me and seemed to
be saying: You are lucky, bhai. Go. We have to live and die in this backward.
Twenty years passed by.
I was an engineer now. I came to the
same town for inspection and stayed in the dak
bungalow . My very presence in that place brought back the sweet memories
of my childhood. I picked up my stick and came out to walk through the town. My
eyes searched restlessly, like a thirsty traveller, for my childhood haunts,
but here there was nothing familiar except the name of the town. Where there was wasteland once I found pucca
houses. Where there was a banyan tree I saw a beautiful park. The place had
undergone a metamorphosis. Had I not known the name and the location I wouldn’t
have recognized it. The undying memories of my childhood were opening their
arms to embrace my old friends, but this world had changed. I wanted to clasp the place to my bosom and cry, and complain that it had forgotten me. I longed to see its
old face.
All of a sudden I saw
two-three boys playing gulli-danda in
an open space. For a moment I forgot who I was: a big officer, with my
officer-ship, power and authority in full show.
I went close to them
and asked a boy, ‘Son, does a man by the name of Gaya live here?’
One of the boys
answered, somewhat overawed, ‘Gaya? Gaya, the chamar?’
I said, ‘Yes, yes, the
same. If there’s a man called Gaya, he might be the same.’
‘Yes, there is.’
‘Can you call him?’
The boy ran and in a
short while I saw him coming back accompanied by a tall, black giant of a man. I
recognized him from a distance and wanted to take him in my embrace but stopped
for some reason. I said, ‘Gaya, do you recognize me?’
Gaya bowed down to
salute me. ‘Yes, malik. Why wouldn’t
I ? How have you been?’
‘Oh fine. And you?’
‘I’m deputy sahib’s
syce.’
‘Where’re Mattai, Durga
and Mohan? Do you have any news about them?’
‘Mattai’s dead. Durga
and Mohan have become postmen. And you?’
‘I’m the district
engineer.’
‘Sarkar, you were always very bright.’
‘Do you play gulli-danda now, sometimes?’
Gaya looked at me with
surprise, ‘How can I play, sarkar? I
get no time off.’
‘Come, let’s play
today. You bat. I’ll field. I owe you a turn. You can square it today.’
Gaya agreed only after
great persuasion. He was a low-wage labourer. I a big officer. There was no match.
He was feeling embarrassed. So was I. Not because I was playing against Gaya
but because I felt that people would treat this as a great tamasha and assemble in a big crowd. I won’t enjoy with that crowd
watching us, but I couldn’t resist the temptation to play. We decided that we
would go and play far away from the town at a lonely place. No one would
be there to watch us and we would relive the sweet memories of our childhood. I
brought Gaya to the dak bungalow and
both of us sat in the motor car and drove to an open spot. We carried an axe
too. I was very serious about it but Gaya was still treating it as fun. There
was no trace of excitement or pleasure on his face. Perhaps he was lost in
thinking about the divide that now existed between us.
I asked, ‘Gaya, tell me
honestly, did you ever think me?’
Gaya replied, somewhat
bashfully, ‘How should I remember you, hazoor?
I’m worth nothing. It was my good luck to play with you for a few days. Otherwise I don't count.’
I said, saddened a bit,
‘But I always remembered you. Your danda,
with which you had hit me hard. Don’t you remember it?’
‘That was out of
boyishness. Don’t remind me of that, sarkar.’
‘What! That’s the best
memory of my childhood. The enjoyment that I get remembering that incident, I
find nowhere; neither in the respect I get, nor in the money I have. There was
something in that which is still sweet.’
By this time we had
driven nearly three miles away from the town. There was silence all around.
Towards the west was the marshland spreading for miles across, where we
sometimes used to come to pick the lotus flowers and fasten them on to our ears
like earrings. The evening of the month of Jeth
was drenched in a crimson light. I quickly climbed up a tree and came down
after cutting a branch. And a gulli
and danda were ready in no time.
The game began. I
positioned the gulli on the small
boat-shaped hole, the starting point, and struck it with the danda. The gulli flew right in front of Gaya. He raised his hand as if to
catch a fish, but the gulli fell just
behind him. It was the same Gaya in whose hands the gulli would land of her own will as if. He might be waiting to the
right or to the left, the gullis
would just land into his hands, as if he had spellbound them. The new gulli, the old gulli, the big gulli, the
small gulli, the sharply tapered gulli, the untapered gulli – all would defect to his side, as
if drawn by some magnetic power. But today the gulli showed no love for him. Then I sent him on a gulli chase. I broke all the rules,
substituting cheating for my lack of practice. I kept on playing even when I had
missed hitting the gulli; though
according to the rules it should have been Gaya’s turn to bat. Whenever I
failed to drive the gulli far I ran
to pick it up it and start again. Gaya was watching all these violations but he
said nothing, as if he had forgotten all the rules. His aim was so perfect that
the gulli would always hit the danda with a clatter. The gulli’s only purpose after release from
his hand was to hit the danda. But
today it refused. It went either left or right or fell short, or went across.
After he had fielded
for half an hour the gulli hit the danda. But I cheated saying it hadn’t,
had gone past missing it narrowly.
Gaya didn’t protest.
‘It might have missed.’
‘Had it hit I won’t
have denied.’
‘No, bhaiya, why should you lie?’
During our childhood he
wouldn’t have spared my life had I cheated like this. He would have caught me
by the neck, but today I was cheating so openly. The donkey! He had forgotten
everything.
Suddenly the gulli hit the danda like a bullet. Against this clear proof I couldn’t cheat, yet
once again I thought of changing the truth into falsehood. What would I lose?
If he agreed it would be great but if he didn’t there was no harm in fielding
for a while. I’ll wriggle out appealing for bad light. Who would come again to
field!
Gaya shouted in a
victorious mood, ‘It has hit! It has hit! With a clatter.’
I pretended. ‘Did you
see it hit? I didn’t.’
‘It made a clattering
noise, sarkar.’
‘It might have hit a
brick.’
How such a sentence
came out of my mouth, surprised even me. To turn this truth into falsehood was
like calling the day night. Both of us
had seen the gulli hit the danda, yet Gaya accepted my version.
‘Yes, it must have hit
a brick. Had it hit the danda it
wouldn’t have made such a clattering noise.’
I began to bat again.
But after such blatant cheating I began to pity Gaya’s naivetty. So when the gulli hit the danda a third time I agreed to field, out of generosity.
Gaya said, ‘Now it’s
dark, bhaiya, let’s play tomorrow.’
I thought for a moment:
Tomorrow he would have too much time and God knows how long he’ll make me
field. It was better to call it quits today itself.
‘No, no. There’s plenty
of light. You take your turn.’
‘We won’t be able to
see the gulli.’
‘Don’t worry.’
Gaya started batting.
But he was terribly out of practice. He tried to strike the gulli twice but failed each time. His
turn was over in less than a minute. The poor fellow had fielded for an hour but had lost his turn just in one minute. I tried to be generous.
‘You can have another
turn. You have missed your very first shot.’ I said.
‘No, bhaiya, it’s already dark.’
‘You’re out of
practice. Don’t you play now.’
‘There’s no time, bhaiya.’
Both of us got into the
car and were back in the town just before it was time to light the lamps. As he was going away Gaya said
to me, ‘Tomorrow there’ll be a match here. All the old players would come.
Would you come? I’ll call them when you are free.’
I agreed and came there
in the evening to watch the match. There
were ten players in all. Some of them were my boyhood companions. Majority of
the players were young, whom I did not know. The match began. I was watching
sitting inside my car. Today I was astonished to see Gaya’s skill. When he
struck the gulli it flew into the
sky. There was no trace of yesterday’s hesitation, reluctance or lack of
interest. What was once boyishness had acquired maturity. Had he made me
field like this yesterday I would have cried. The gulli travelled two hundred yards when he struck it with his danda.
One of the fielders
tried to cheat. He thought he had caught the gulli. Gaya said that the gulli
had first hit the ground. They were about to come to blows. But the young boy
backed out when he saw Gaya’s face flushed with anger. Had he not backed out
there would have been a fight. I was not playing, yet I was enjoying it all,
reminded of the good old days of boyhood. Now I realized that yesterday Gaya
only pretended to be playing. He had taken pity on me. I had cheated but he
didn’t lose his temper, because he was not playing but only kidding. He didn’t
want to torture me by making me chase the gulli
endlessly. I was an officer and this officer-ship had become a wall between us.
Now I could get his respect or his services but not his companionship. During
our boyhood we were equals. There was no distance between us. But now in this
position I was an object of his pity. He didn’t accept me as his equal. He
had grown taller and I had grown smaller.
(Hindi,
Hans, February1933)
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