Premchand’s Moteram Tetralogy
Premchand wrote four
stories in which a character named Moteramji Shastri, a brahmin school teacher, appears in different roles: as
a quack Ayurvedic doctor, as a traditional school teacher, as a fake and
hypocritical journalist, as a greedy, lascivious, hypocritical and gormandizing
brahmin. Premchand uses satire and caricature to ridicule these and some other
professions, social practices, rituals and superstitions.Here are the titles of
the four stories:
1 मोटेरामजी
शास्त्री Moteramji Shastri (Madhuri, January, 1928)
(The text, 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 second of these stories.
Moteramji Shastri’s Heartbreak
1
Just as a barber is addressed as thakur,
a chamar as chowdhry and a sweeper as jamadar, Ghasita , the grocer was addressed as seth. Although
Ghasita himself was illiterate, he was obsessed, like other illiterate fathers,
with the idea of adorning his son with education. After great hard work of many
months he had taught his son how to count up to hundred, but one needed a
guru to teach the alphabet. He had been
postponing this idea for many months out of miserliness but today he had
decided to have his son initiated into learning. He had already enquired about
the auspicious day. He said to sethani, ‘The offering for initiation won’t be
less than a rupee!’
The sethani retorted, ‘Why one
rupee? Is it robbery? One rupee to teach a few letters! To which pandit would
you go?’
‘My heart is fixed on Moteram.
There are many pandits, but Moteram is special.’
‘Then why pay him a rupee? Feed
him a bellyful of ladoos.’
‘Would he eat ladoos worth less
than four rupees? It is much better to pay one rupee and be finished with him.’
So it was decided. The sethani gave
the boy a bathe, dressed him, put gold bangles on his wrists, gold earrings in
his ears, silver rings on his feet, and a black mark on his forehead for good
luck. And sethji wore his kurta, wound the turban round his head and forced his
feet into his shoes after softening them with water. When the boy saw his
father wearing shoes he insisted on having a pair for himself. The expense of
one rupee was already staring in his face and now this demand! Sethji lost his
temper and slapped the boy and dragged him towards the guru’s residence.
2
Worship of gods never goes
unrewarded. Then why would Pandit Moteramji’s prayers be not answered? His
prayers could reach not only the gods but also their spouses. He was regularly in
demand now for determining the auspicious time and day, now for preparing the
year’s predictions, now for matching the horoscopes. Sometimes he was invited for
recitation of goddess Durga’s devotionals. We cannot say whether or not
panditji was a pleasure seeker. His heavy-built did not seem to support this
tendency but his wife Sonadevi did not like such invitations and would on such
occasions warn him not to cross any limits. Pandit was so sweet-tongued, so affable
and knew so many mantras to please women that no pandit stood any chance before
him. For these very qualities panditji had been appointed a teacher in a school
on thirty rupees a month.
But on becoming a teacher
panditji faced a dilemma. He became reluctant to accept commonplace
invitations. The moment he reached the school he would get all the news from
the town: about persons to be initiated into learning, about shradhs, about
marriages. Panditji consoled himself by sending his sons as his representatives.
The teaching job and the prestige associated with it were proving to be very costly.
That’s why sometimes he would speak to his wife with some irritation, ‘I’ll
quit this job. Is it work or punishment? If I have to live on just bread and
dal, I would quit this world quite soon. I am already losing weight.’
But Sonadevi would pacify him
somehow. And poor Moteram had to be satisfied just by talking about the palatable
dishes. He would rest content because here in the school he did not have to do
any work. The boys in the senior classes taught the boys in the junior classes.
Panditji had to teach just one boy in the senior most class and this student
gave him the least trouble.
3
When Ghasita, carrying his son on
his shoulders, reached the school, panditji was lying on his seat with his head
reclining against a long cylindrical pillow, a few of his students kneading his
plump body with their fists. One student was massaging the soles of his feet.
Two were fanning him and one was oiling his head. Panditji was delivering a
lecture on poetics: ‘Just as there are eight rasas in the palate and sweetness
is the prinicipal rasa among these, there are nine rasas in poetry and shringar
is the highest among them. Just as there are many varieties of foods displaying
the sweetness rasa, in the same manner there are many varieties of heroines;
and just as motichoor ladoos are the best among sweets, in the same way mughdha
is the top most among heroines. And mughdha is my favourite.’
Just then Ghasita came in and lay
flat on the ground in salutation before Panditji.
Panditji said, ‘My blessings. My
blessings. Tell me seth, what brings you here? Is he the younger seth?’
‘Yes, maharaj. He’s your slave. I
wish to have him initiated.’
‘Oh yes. Why not? There’s nothing
greater than knowledge.’
“That’s why I have come to you,
maharaj. Bless him so that he acquires some learning.’
‘You need the blessings of gurus.
You will have to make an expense.’
‘I’m ready to spend, maharaj.’
‘Yes, yes, I know. Chintamani ji,
take the trouble to come here. This is seth Ghasitamalji. His son is to be
initiated into learning. On this propitious occasion he wants to honour the
gurus.’
Chintamani exclaimed, ‘Oh, we’re grateful!
You’re truly praiseworthy. It is because of such benevolent souls that the
creation is in a steady state; otherwise the earth would have sunk to the
underworld long ago. So sethji, how many brahmins would you like to feed?’
Moteram interrupted him, ‘Why do
you put this question to sethji? Talk to me. A count of ten-plus-two would be
felicitous.’
Chintamani said, Do you
understand, sethji? Make arrangement to feed twelve mahatmas.’
Moteram said to Chintamani, ‘You
make an estimate of the provisions needed. Sethji is a blessed son of goddess
Lakshmi. About ten sers of amriti would be enough.’
Chintamani said, ‘Ten sers! I
alone would...’
Moteram said, ‘Friend, don’t lie.
All right, how much kalakand would be needed?’
Chintamani said, ‘You don’t let
me speak.’
Moteram replied, ‘No-no. On this
you can express your views freely,’
Chintamani said, ‘A maund of
kalakand.’
Moteram said, laughing, ‘No-no.
We should not overburden our yajman with such a weight of guruship. Let it be
ten sers of kalakand.’
Chintamani retorted, ‘Then why do
you ask me? You’re a strange person. Whenever we catch a prey you...’
Moteram said, ‘My friend, don’t
get worked up. One needs a lot of experience to manage such difficult tasks. What
quantity of motichoor ladoos would we need?’
Chintamani said, ‘I don’t know.’
Moteram said, ‘Don’t be angry, my
dear friend. I swear I shall accept the quantity proposed by you.’
Chintamani said, ‘Then let it be
one ser.’
Moteram said, ‘You’re a big fool,
my friend. It does not become a gourmet like you to insult this sweet that even
gods get to eat with difficulty. Let it be twenty sers.’
Consulting in this manner Moteram prepared an
estimate and gave it to sethji. In addition he also proposed a gift of one
rupee each to the brahmins. Hearing this estimate, Ghasitaram’s head began to
reel. For him even one rupee was too much. He said,’ I can’t afford this.’
Moteram tried to comfort him,
‘Don’t talk like that, you son of Goddess Lakshmi, don’t talk like that. God
has given you everything. Your son is very lucky. He will bring fame to your
family. So, all the people would reach by eight o’clock.’
Ghasite said, ‘Maharaj, I’m very
...’
“Yes, yes. It is something to be
happy about. The place where the footsteps of brahmins and scholars fall
becomes heaven-like.’
Ghasite said, ‘Maharaj, I’m
unable to express myself. You have seen my shop. And these days the sales are
down...’
‘Moteram assured him, ‘This
propitious act would remove all your pain and poverty. Serving the brahmin is like
planting a kalpavriksha, the wish-fulfilling tree. Make all the arrangements on
time. We won’t be late.’
4
When at the appointed time they
all moved towards Ghasite’s house to feast they were unable to contain their
joy. They picked up five students from the school to complete the number
twelve. It was decided that they would proceed to Ghasite’s house reciting Veda
mantras. Shastriji had trained his students in this art so well that people who
came to visit the school would become spellbound listening to the recitation.
Then they would fall in love with the school. With this tactic Shastriji had
won fame in the town. At this moment people were watching the march of students
chanting the Veda mantras. One spectator said, ‘This procession is a display of
Shastriji’s power.’
Another said, ‘Well said. With
Shastriji joining, the school’s reputation has gone up.’
When they reached a turning
Moteram said to Chintamani, ‘Just go and see if there is any light.’
Chintamani said, ‘I don’t see any
light.’
Moteram said, ‘Why not! You can’t
see anything. A gas lamp is burning. Don’t you hear someone talking?’
‘I don’t know. It seems there’s
silence all around.’
‘Your pate! I can clearly hear
the voices of people talking. See, we have reached. I feel like making a dash.
I’m as restless as a long-separated hero feels the moment he approaches his
beloved. But what is this? There’s silence all around. May be he is inside.’
‘Should I knock on the door? But
the door is locked.’
Moteram asked the neighbouring
shopkeeper, who replied, ‘He was at home till the evening. I can’t say about
now. Try and see, he should be at home.’
Pandit Moterram knocked on the
door with such force the whole house shook, but no one answered from within.
Algu said, ‘Should I break open
the lock?’
Moteram stopped him, ‘No, no. He
might have gone out to buy the provisions.’
Both the pandits sat down in
front of the house. The students started strolling here and there. A whole hour
passed like this. Chintamani said in irritation, ‘It seems the rogue has
cheated us.’
Moteram said, ‘Yes, now it seems
so to me also.’
Chintamani said angrily, ‘If I
get hold of the scoundrel I shall catch him by the neck. You crook. Oh you
Ghasite bania! Come out. Where are you hiding?’
At this the five students started
shouting, calling Ghasite a scoundrel, a sinner, a chandal.
Algu said, 'The rogue’s face is
painted black.’
Chintamani said, ‘May he be
ruined altogether.’
Bhavani said, ‘If he dies, he‘ll
be born as a mole.’
Algu said, ‘He’ll be a donkey.
Will keep on braying.’
Moteram was sitting quietly. His
head was bowed down out of anger, shame and anguish. At last he spoke quietly,
‘Now we should leave.’
Algu said, ‘ Should I set the
house on fire?’
Bhavani said, ‘Shall we throw
stones?’
Moteram said, ‘No, son. This is
not the way of brahmins. God will punish him for his shameless act. I forgive
him.’
As he said this, tears flowed
from Shastriji’s eyes. He had never felt so humiliated in his life.
Chintamani tried to mollify him,
‘Bhaiya, you’re feeling wretched for no reason. You should be consoling us. And
here you yourself are crying. Whatever is destined by God will happen. But you
will see, there will be compensation for this very soon.’
“What compensation, friend? This
wound would never heal. How luckless we are that we wait upon others to feed
us. At this moment I feel I should die rather than go back to the school. A
person who can’t get to feed himself to his satisfaction through his own
efforts is worthless. I spent my life toadying the officials, or singing the
praises of the rich. Had I spent half that effort to do something different I
would have become a respectable human being. Today this crooked Ghasite has
opened my eyes.’
Chintamani said, ‘Let’s see what
Sona Bhabi has to say.’
Moteram said, ‘My feet are
unsteady even now. If you ask me I’m not fit to show my face anywhere. She
won’t let me live.’
---
(First published in Hindi, Smalochak, March-April 1928 )
Glossary
Amriti a
kind of Indian sweet made from urd dal batter that is given a loopy-flowery
shape as it is released into the frying pan, deep fried
and dipped in sugar syrup
Kalakand an
Indian sweet made by boiling milk over slow heat until it is semi-solid and mixed with sugar
Kalpavriksha wishful-filling divine
tree in Hindu mythology
Maund an old measure of weight, about 37 kilograms
Motichoor ladoo a sweet prepared from gram flour
Mughdha a
heroine who is youthful, inexpert and bashful in expressing her desire and
making love
Ser an old measure of weight, a
little less than a kilogram
Shradh a ritual
which Hindus perform annually to honour and remember their ancestors, especially dead parents, by feeding brahmins
