Premchand's Moteramji Shastri Tetralogy in English translation

Premchand’s Moteramji Shastri Tetralogy

Premchand wrote four stories in which a character named Moteramji Shastri appears in different roles: as a quack Ayurvedic doctor dispensing aphrodisiacs, as a dubious, gluttonous school teacher, as a fake and hypocritical journalist, as a greedy, lascivious, duplicitous and gormandizing brahmin. Premchand uses satire and caricature to ridicule these and some other professions, human failings, social practices, rituals and superstitions.

Here are the titles of the four stories:

1 मोटेरामजी शास्त्री: Moteramji Shastri (Madhuri, January, 1928)

2. मोटेरामजी शास्त्री का नैराश्य: Moteramji Shastri’s Heartbreak (Smalochak, March-April, 1928)

3. संपादक मोटेरामजी शास्त्री: Editor Moteramji Shastri (Madhuri, August-September,1928)

4. पंडित मोटेराम की डायरी: Pandit Moteram’s Diary (Jagran, July,1934)

(The dates of publication and names of magazines in which these stories were published for the first time have been obtained from 'Premchand: Kahani Rachnawali', collected and edited by Dr. Kamal Kishor Goyanka and published by Sahitya Akademi, New Delhi.2012) 

Here is the first of these stories.

                                                     Moteramji Shastri

1

Who doesn’t know Pandit Moteramji Shastri?  He always goes along with the wishes of the government officials. When the Swadeshi movement was on he vehemently opposed it. During the Swarajya movement too he received from the officials a certificate of loyalty to the state. But when after such play-acting his fortune did not wake up from slumber and he could not rid himself of the drudgery of teaching he thought of another stratagem. He went home and spoke to his wife: ‘My head is becoming blank teaching these old parrots. What have I gained dispensing knowledge for so long that I should hope to get anything now?’

The wife, getting worried, said, ‘Do we not need some way to feed us?’

Moteram said, ‘You’re always worried about your stomach. Hardly a day passes when I don’t get an invitation; and even if people criticize me I never come home without a thali-ful of food for you. Will all our yajmans die in one day? But what if we have done nothing in life except filling up our stomachs? We should also enjoy the good things of life. I have decided to become a vaid.’ 

 

His wife asked in surprise, ‘How can you become a vaid? Have you studied vaidic?’

Moteram said, ‘One learns nothing by studying vaidic. In life knowledge is not as important as intelligence. There are a few formulae, that’s all. Today itself I shall prefix the title Bhishagacharya before my name. Who’s going to question whether or not I’m a Bhishagacharya? Why should anyone worry about testing my knowledge? I shall have a big signboard made with these words written on it: “Men and women suffering from unmentionable diseases are specially treated here.”  I shall stock some powdered hud-vaheda-amla. That would be sufficient for the purpose. And, of course, I shall give advertisements in newspapers and circulate notices. The notices will contain names of people living in far-off places like Lanka, Madras, Rangoon, Karachi. These would provide evidence of my skills in medicine. Why should people worry about finding out whether or not these people really do live in these places? Then you’ll see how my vaidic flourishes.’

‘But will it work if you dispense a medicine without knowing about it?’

‘May not work, who cares! A vaid’s duty is to prescribe medicine. He is not contracted to defeat death; and then, everyone who falls ill does not die. And it is my belief that even those who don’t take any medicine recover once the disease has run its course. Vaids earn praise unasked. So even if one among five patients treated by me recovers I shall be applauded. And the four who die won’t come back to denounce me. I have thought deeply about it: nothing can be better than this line. I know how to write articles, and am also good at composing verses. I shall write a few articles on the importance of Ayurveda, inserting here and there a few passages of verse; all using spicy language. Then you will see how so many are fooled. Don’t be under the impression that I have wasted myself teaching old parrots: I have been carefully observing the tactics of successful vaids, and after so many years I have understood the key to their success. God willing, one day you will be loaded with gold from head to foot.’

Suppressing her delight, the wife said, ‘At my age now I have no desire to wear ornaments. But tell me, how you would prepare the medicines, the concoctions, when you have no knowledge of them?’

‘My dear, you’re a simpleton. Vaids need none of these. For a vaid a pinch of ash is the liquid, the powder and the chemical composition; all one needs is some show-off. A big room, a dari, and some vials and bottles on shelves. Nothing more than this is needed; one’s intelligence does all the rest. You will see how effective my writings laced with literary embellishments will be.  You know how well versed I am in alankaras. Today I can think of none who on this earth can match me in my knowledge of alankaras. After all I haven’t been digging grass all these years. Five-to-ten people would always be visiting me to converse on poetry. They would be my agents. Patients would come to me through them. You would see, I shall practise vaidic medicine not on the strength any Ayurvedic knowledge but on that of the heroines of erotic literature.’

His wife spoke in disbelief, ‘I fear even these students would slip through your hands and you would be neither here nor there. You are destined only to tutor students. And after getting kicks from all sides, you would return to tutor these parrots.’

‘Why don’t you have faith in my competence?’

‘Because, in this case too, you would behave deceitfully. I hate your deceitfulness. Why do you want to become what you are not, what you cannot be? You could not become a leader, and gave up in disgust. It is your crookedness that always becomes evident, and I don’t like it. I want you to live like an honest man. But you never listen to me.’

‘After all, when shall I be able to make use of my knowledge of erotic literature?’  

‘Why don’t you become a rich man’s courtier? Recite a few verses before him and he would give you something. Why do you want to become an impostor?’

‘I know such tricks of this trade that were not known even to the forefathers of today’s vaids. All these vaids run here and there just for two-two rupees. I shall fix my fees at five rupees, and the cost of transport over and above. People would think of me as a great vaid. Why else should he charge such a fees, they would say?’

Now the wife felt a little at ease. She said, ‘Only now you have said something sensible. But remember you won’t be able to establish yourself here. You’ll have to go to another city.’

Moteram laughed and said, ‘Do you think I don’t know even this. I shall set up my practice in Lucknow. In just one year I shall establish myself so well that all the vaids there would bite the dust. I know many other tricks. I won’t start treating a person without having examined him a number of times. I would say that I won’t treat a patient until I have fully understood his nature. What do you think?’

The wife was exhilarated. She said, ‘Now I am convinced. I have no doubt your vaidic would flourish. But don’t play these tricks with the poor or you would be in trouble.’ 

   

2

A year went by.

Bhishagacharya Pandit Moteram ji Shastri became famous all over Lucknow. He had good knowledge of alankaras; was a little trained in music too. And on top of it, he was a specialist in the unmentionable diseases! The city’s aesthetes were delighted.  Panditji recited verses for them, entertained them and prescribed potency medicines for them; and they in turn praised panditji sky high among the wealthy who always long for potency-enhancing medicines. He was the only physician who treated unmentionable diseases. He treated his patients in strict privacy. He began to be worshipped among licentious widowed queens and short-sighted pleasure-loving rich. And he became arrogant.

His wife tried to persuade him not to get involved with queens, or, she said, he would regret one day.

But what must happen, will happen, in spite of all admonitions. One of panditji’s admirers was the queen of Bidhal. Raja Sahib was dead and Rani Sahiba was suffering from some unknown ailment. Panditji used to visit her five times a day and Rani Sahiba would not let him go even for a moment. And she would become restless if panditji was late in coming. A motor always stood at his doors. Panditji had undergone great transformation. He wore a tanzeb achkan, donned a Banarasi turban and wore pump shoes. His friends too enjoyed motor-rides with him. How could Rani Sahiba show disregard to her Messiah?

But cruel Time was spinning another conspiracy.

One day, while panditji was feeling Rani Sahiba’s pulse by holding her white wrist in one of his hands and examining her heart with his other hand, some people carrying sticks entered the room and attacked him. The Rani ran away and shut herself into the adjoining room. Sticks rained down on panditji. Although panditji was a man of sturdy built and always carried a sword sheathed in a hollow stick he was helpless against this sudden assault by a gang of people. He caught now this man’s feet, now that man’s. The words ‘hai, hai’ flowed nonstop from his mouth but those cruel men showed no mercy. One of the men kicked panditji and said, ‘Let’s cut his nose.’

Another said, ‘Smear his face with soot and lime and let him go.’

The third said, ‘Speak out vaidji maharaj, what would you prefer? A severed nose, or a face painted black.’

Panditji cried, ‘Hai hai, I’m dying. Do what you like, but don’t cut my nose.’

One said, ‘Would you ever come here again?’

‘No, never, sarkar. Oh, I’m dying.’

Another said, ‘Get out of this city today itself, or something worse would happen.’

Panditji said, ‘Sarkar, I shall go today itself. I swear by my sacred thread. You won’t see my face again.’

The third said, ‘All right. Let each one of us give him five kicks, and then let him go.’ 

Panditji pleaded, ‘Oh, sarkar, I’ll die. Have pity on me.’

The fourth said, ‘Impostors like you are best dead. Oh yes, begin.’

The fivesome kicks began to rain. Sound of kicking could be heard. It seemed as if a drum was being pounded. Each burst of kicks was followed by the cry ‘hai’, as if it was an echo.

After fivesome thrashing the attackers dragged Moteram ji out and put him into the motor and sent him home. And he was warned that he should quit the town next morning or he would be given another treatment.

3

 Limping, groaning, walking on his stick Moteram ji reached home and collapsed on his cot. His wife asked, ‘How’re you? Arre, what is this? Hai-hai, what’s wrong with your face?’

Moteram replied, ‘Oh God. I’m dying.’

His wife said, ‘Where is the pain? That’s why I told you not to eat too much rabdi. Shall I bring lawan-bhaskar?’

Moteram cried, ‘Hai, the scoundrels nearly killed me. That chandalini is responsible for this miserable state. Thy have beaten me into pulp.’

‘Why don’t you say you have been thrashed. Yes, so it looks. They did it right. You are a god who deserves only thrashing. I used to warn you against going to that Rani. But you never listened.’

‘Hai-hai, you slut! You have chosen this occasion to berate me. I’m in such a wretched state and you are reviling me. Tell someone to bring a cart. We have to get out of Lucknow during the night. Otherwise they would kill me.’

The wife went on, ‘No, you still haven’t had your fill. Spend some more days here. You were tutoring boys without a care, and you thought of becoming a vaid! It served you right. You won’t forget it whole of your life. Where was the Rani? Why didn’t she come to your rescue when you were being thrashed?’

Panditji replied ‘Hai-hai, the chudel ran away. It was all because of her. Had I known this I won’t have treated her.’

‘You are really unfortunate. Your vaidic was going well but your misdeeds ruined you. You have to go back to tutoring. You’re indeed unfortunate.’

                                                                      ****

Early in the morning a cart stood at Moteram ji’s door and it was being loaded. Not one among his friends could be seen there. Panditji was groaning and his wife was having their effects loaded.

                                                                            ---    

(First published in  Hindi, Madhuri, January 1928)

Glossary

Achkan                      men’s clothing that reaches to the knees with buttons down the
                                  front

Alankara                   figures of speech used as embellishments in poetry

Chandalini                low caste woman, a wicked woman

Chudel                      an evil spirit, a wicked woman

Dari                          a thick cotton carpet

Hud-vaheda-amla   dried fruits of three trees that have great medicinal value,
in Ayurvedic medicine

Lawan-bhaskar          Ayurvedic powder, good for indigestion

Rabdi                        thick cream that is obtained by heating milk on low heat for a long
                                   time

Tanzeb                     muslin, a kind of embroidery on muslin

Thali                         a brass plate in which food is served

Vaidic                       Ayurvedic system of medicine

Yajman                   Hindu upper caste person for whom a brahmin performs certain 
religious rituals for a payment in kind or cash