Premchand's Moteramji Shastri Tetralogy story - 4

 Premchand’s Moteram Tetralogy

Premchand wrote four stories in which a character named Moteramji Shastri, a Brahmin,  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)

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)


A Correction and an apology

I have been saying here that Premchand wrote four stories in which a character named Moteramji Shastri appears in different avatars, a group which I called a Premchand tetralogy.

I am sorry to say I was mistaken in this. After a scan of the monumental six-volume collection of 300 stories of Premchand  collected and edited by Dr Kamal Kishore Goyanka and published by Sahitya Akademi under the title Premchand Kahani Rachnavali in 2010, I found that Premchand in fact wrote not four but eight stories featuring Moteram Shastri as a main character. So it is an octalogy, if I may use this rarely used word. I deeply regret this misinformation.

Here are the other four stories.

1.       मनष्य का परम धर्म (Manushya Ka Param Dharama) (Swadesh, March 1920)

         

2.      सत्याग्रह (Satyagraha) (Madhuri, December 1923)

3.      निमंत्रण  (Nimantran)  (Saraswati, November 1926)

4.      गुरुमंत्र  (Gurumantra) (Prem-Pratima,1926)  

(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) 

 As can be seen, Premchand introduced Moteram Shastri as a character for the first time in 1920 along with his friend and rival Chintamani in the story Manushya Ka Param Dharama. His wife, Sona, also features in this story though she is not mentioned here by name. In this group of four stories, full of humour and caricature, Moteram can be seen predominantly as a gormandizing brahmin always hankering for feasts but not always succeeding. He can be called a food maniac, or even a food voluptuary, who would cheat or deceive any one, use any stratagem to entice people to satisfy his insatiable desire and capacity for sweets. And in the stories listed in my tetralogy Moteram appears in various roles as a disreputable character, dishonest in his dealings.

One is struck by the fact that Moteram is a brahmin, which seems not incidental but deliberate, and this group of eight stories can be together read as a study of a brahmin’s mind and brahminism as seen by Premchand. Since there are many brahmin characters in Premchand’s oeuvre, not all of them disreputable as Moteram though a few even worse. Scholars of Premchand  could  find it fruitful to study the image of brahmins and the brahmanical mind as portrayed in Premchand’s fiction, unless of course this subject has already been explored by someone.  

Of the four stories outside my tetralogy the story Satyagraha is a very fine story and, in my opinion, deserves to be placed among his very readable stories. I hope to put it on my blog sometime. 

In the meantime please read the fourth story listed in my tetralogy.

                        Pandit Moteram’s Diary

1

 What a name! I can’t make out the difference between dairy and dairy-farm. We call dairy that small bound blank notebook in which is written a description of the day’s happenings and which is kept by almost all great men. And we call dairy-farm the place where people rear cows and buffaloes, and produce milk, butter and ghee. It seems it is called a dairy-farm because it produces milk and ghee every day just as in a dairy is recorded the news of every day. Whatever it is I have now decided to keep a dairy. Many years ago a book-seller had gifted me a dairy. Then I wrote in it the account of myself for one month. But I found it hard to write anything in it. I would sit for hours at night wondering what to write. There was nothing worth writing. To write that I woke up in the morning, washed myself, put a sandalwood paste mark on my forehead, prayed, met my yajmans, went somewhere to suggest an auspicious day, returned, had my food and slept. Woke up in the third pahar, strained the bhang preparation, then bathed, put a mark on my forehead once again and went to recite the katha, returned, ate and went to sleep. I didn’t like to write all this. So I filled up that dairy by noting down the details of clothes given to dhobi for washing and my daily income-and-expenditure. When that dairy was filled up I stopped writing my daily accounts and assigned to panditaiyan the task of keeping the account of clothes given to dhobi.  

   But now I am starting to keep a dairy again. What for?  Well, I have heard that it helps one live longer and one obtains all the four materials. So now reciting God’s name, bowing my head before Ganeshji I begin to write my dairy. Aum shanti, shanti, shanti.

   Well, these days I hear lot of discussions on communism and socialism. Communism means that all human beings should be equal. Therefore I wish to know from our communist scholars, those who are specialists in their field – people such as Shri Sampurna Ananda, Acharya Narendra Dev and Acharya  Shri Prakash ji ⎼  how can all human beings be equal? Acharya Narendra Dev may or may not forgive me but three men of his size can be fitted inside my belly. What kind of communism is possible here? This can only mean either I should assume the Vaman-roop or he should assume the Virat-roop.

   Now let’s look at it in another way. You want everyone to have an equal amount of money, but tell me how you can make everyone’s stomach equal. Acharya Narendradev ji can live on one or two chapatis and one or two draughts of milk. But I need to eat four times ⎼ after the morning prayer, at noon, in the afternoon and at night ⎼ delicious things like ladoos, halwa, cream, almonds, kalakand etc. If your communism can guarantee that I can eat what I like, then I am willing to consider it worth adopting, but if you want that I too should live on two chapatis, a mouthful of milk and a meagre amount of vegetable curry, then I say goodbye to communism. I don’t desire wealth but I want food that would strain my intestines to the bursting point; and if such a guarantee is given I promise I and many of my friends are ready to become communists.

   But food alone is not enough. One needs clothes too. You need one kurta and one cap. A kurta won’t need more than a yard of khadi to make. I wear a long cloak which needs no less than seven yards of cloth. I have had it made sitting right in front of the tailor and I can assure you that my cloak can’t be tailored in less than this. Then, in addition, twelve-yard long turban and five-yard length of chaddar. Can communism promise me that? I don’t need wealth but food and clothing are a must.

   You would say everyone would have to do equal work. I accept that. If someone prays for one hour I shall do it for two; if he bathes for one hour I can stay in water for two. If he can debate for one hour I can do it for the whole day, giving up my prayer and food. I won’t lag behind anyone in this.

   One thing more. I don’t care about where I would reside. I can live in a hut. But if I have to travel by rail I would need a whole berth and others sitting there would have to make room for me. And what’s more, I can’t sleep quietly. While sleeping I snore in such a strange way that people sleeping nearby have to run away. Therefore, not for my sake but for the good of others I would need a full compartment to sleep in. If communism questions this then I won’t even look at it.

   I had written down this much when panditaiyan came and asked, ‘What are you writing today so early in the morning? Why don’t you prepare Sethji’s son’s horoscope? Why do you torture your head in wasteful controversies?’

   I don’t denigrate women. I regard them as goddesses. They are household Lakshmis. But I don’t consult them on matters other than household ones. I want the household Lakshmi to remain confined to the household. What have they got to do with society, politics and religion? I don’t like this craze among a handful of educated babus to give importance to women. One day panditaiyan too came out wearing a half-sleeve jumper through which half her chest was visible. I forced her to remove the jumper at once. She was angry but I adopted the raudra posture. At last when I ran to pick up a stick she removed the jumper, full with resentment. I said, ‘You may puff up your mouth, your cheeks with resentment, or even your whole body like a barrel, but I won’t let you step out of home in this dress.’

   Nevertheless when she upbraided me, I said to her, ‘You can’t understand these things. Go and mind your business.’

   Panditaiyan retorted, ‘You think you have become a wise man after reading a few books. If I don’t light the fireplace just one time, all your wisdom would disappear.’

   The answer was so illogical: Hit the knees to gouge the eyes! But I was not surprised. I have got used to such replies from her. I spoke with some firmness, ‘There’s nothing that would interest you, devi, or I would have shared it with you.’

   ‘You must be making some kind of verse. That’s the disease you suffer from.’

   ‘When did I ever have this disease? You talk nonsense. I am as far from poetry as east from west. Do you think, from my dress and physique, I look like a poet? You know nothing about a poet. A poet is one whose face rains poetry. No, I’m not writing poetry. I am seeking the blessed sindoor of inspiration to express my misgivings on a social question.’

   She was somewhat taken in by this scholarly pomposity of a pandit. But I’m something of a fool too. At the same time I broke into laughter. And the same moment panditaiyan turned and snatched the notebook from me and said, ‘I understand now. You’re writing a love letter.’

   It had come to this! I can swear on oath, holding Gangajal in my hands, that I have never known the bird called romantic love. My love is good food. Any other kind of love is beyond my understanding. But I don’t know why pandiaiyan keeps suspecting me. I always keep laughing at the plight of lovers. They are always shedding tears, breathing cold sighs. They don’t eat, don’t drink. Become so thin they would be blown away with one puff of air. With this kind of love I would quit this world in three days. But now it became necessary to clear the air.

   I tried to explain to panditaiyan the essence of communism in a few words. When I had concluded my speech, she said, rolling her eyes, ‘Is this your commnism? Have you been feeding on grass? Let those who are issueless think of commnism. God has blessed me with five sons and the sixth is on way. Why should I fall into the trap of commnism?  My neighbor should be my equal. Eat like me. This is your communism? If my boys live long, they would feed themselves by begging.’

   She kept on talking all kinds of nonsense. But what she said created a doubt in my mind. Does communism bind one to a life without children? If that is so I shall have nothing to do with communism. I won’t compromise on this issue. I don’t like unseemly controversy later on. The scholars should tell me clearly if I would have to walk out of Grihastha Ashram. I want the freedom to have as many children as I like, for I know that God brings them forth and also brings them up. I am only an instrument.

2

Why is it that I, Pandit Moteram, son of now-resident-in-swarga Pandit Chhoteram, resident of Vishwanathpuri, that rests on Lord Shiva’s trident, am running about in Bumbai today? One of my yajmans sent a telegram: ‘I am in grave difficulty. Come at once.’ Along with the telegram double third class fare too. So I set out for Bumbai immediately. How could I not act when my yajman was in trouble? Sethji had once come to Kashi to meet someone. I was also invited there. That is how we struck an acquaintance. In conversation I am a past master at bombast. Let someone give me a chance and I load my speech with such erudition, explicate Vedas and Shastras  so persuasively that no yajman can resist being fooled. Yoga asanas, palmistry, fertility mantras, enchantment spells ⎼ all the arts in which the wealthy have such firm faith ⎼ are on my tongue.  If someone were to ask: Moteramji Shastri, have you ever studied any of these arts, my unambiguous answer would be that I have never studied them. Forget these arts, I have studied nothing, and am a complete ignoramus. A great illiterate! Even then confront me with the biggest book-licking, Shastra-swallowing pandit, and I am not Moteram if I don’t vanquish him. Yes I shall vanquish him; trounce him, flatten him in such a way that panditji would have no place to hide himself. Readers would say that’s impossible. How can a foolish man flatten a great scholar? I say, my dears, a person does not become a scholar by reading books. Today in our yuga a scholar who believes in shradha, in pind-dan and Varnashram, who regards cow’s dung and urine as sacred, who regards god-worship as a way to salvation ⎼ how can he be a scholar? I myself make my yajmans do all this; without doubt I know that halwa and kalakand don’t go into the stomach of a soul, but into mine. Even then I con my yajmans because this is my livelihood. I can’t give up my livelihood, and the yajman is willing to be fooled. If he wants to cross the bhavasagar by performing a godan with five paise, am I dog-bitten that I should call it an illusion, a total falsehood? Who wants to turn away goddess Lakshmi from his doorsteps? But among pandits I behave differently. There my livelihood is not threatened. I wet my shoes and use them left and right to thrash them. Bamboozle them, don’t let them breathe. Against this pandits have only one last resort: You’re an atheist.

    But I’m drifting away from my subject. When I got ready to start for Bumbai, panditaiyan started crying. She asked me when I would return. ‘You must come back in two-three days.’ Had I told her that two-three days would be used up in just reaching Bumbai, she would have made things difficult for me. Therefore I spoke to her in words full of love, ‘My dear, I would always be thinking of you. When I eat I shall be reminded of the soft chapatis and watery dal made by your lotus-like hands. When I drink water I shall think of your dry lips. I shall always be thinking of you, here or there, asleep or awake.’ This pacified her somewhat. But a woman’s heart is somewhat wayward. She spoke out all of a sudden, ‘I can’t trust you. God knows how you may change. You might do something wrong.’  I tried to convince her, ‘O dearer-than-life, I fell in love with you about forty-five years ago. Do you think its long-deposited colour would fade away in a few days?’ She replied, ‘Who knows? Who can unravel a man’s heart? Here you’re talking sweetly. I don’t know what you may do there. I won’t be there to keep an eye on you. I’ll let you go only on one condition. You should swear with Gangajal in your hands that you won’t do any mischief there.’ I laughed in my heart and swore on Gangajal. That alone pacified pandiyaiyan.

   I did set out, but I too was nervous. Everything was fine with me till Preyag, but when I found that I was still nowhere near Bumbai I felt like crying. God! This is kalapani. Travelled the whole day, no Bumbai! Travelled the whole night, still no sight of Bumbai! I concluded I was not destined to die in Kashi. There I was happy bathing in the Ganga; receiving every day the blessings of Vishwanath, and was able to somehow grab eight-to-twelve annas. And here sitting in the train I wondered where I was going. Even the moon won’t be so far. I suspected that the passengers and the railway employees were fooling me. Bumbai has been left behind. At last at ten o’clock I heard the name Bumbai. And I saw that my yajman sethji was there to receive me. He touched my feet but I was in no mood to bless him for my whole body was on fire. I thundered at him displaying my brahmin’s anger, ‘Why didn’t you write to me that Bumbai is as far as Lanka? I haven’t drunk even water. I was gasping on my last breath but I have sustained myself through my yogic power.’ I was lying. During my journey I had been eating fruits and drinking water, but it is very profitable to overawe such yajmans. Sethji ran and put my travel bag on his shoulder and began to apologize, ‘Maharaj, forgive me, I didn’t know  that Bumbai for maharaj...’

   I rebuked him again, ‘What has maharaj to do with Bumbai! We live in holy places, not in the land of rakshasas. Only they live here who covet wealth. We brahmins love our dharma.’

   The rebuke silenced sethji completely. A car was waiting outside. I sat in it and was driven towards Sethji’s residence. Wah re Bumbai!  One would go mad here. Why have they made the roads so broad? Our own Chowkhamba Street is so green. And the roads here are like the ground of Baley Miyan’s dargah. But we shall talk about Bumbai later. Now I would talk of the exigency for which seth ji has summoned me here from so far. Truth is sethji has invested in betting and wants me to perform a special puja to please the gods so that he could win a jackpot. It’s a big sum, about one and a half lakh rupees. After listening to him I made so serious a face as if everything was in my hands. I said, ‘Sethji, you’re my yajman and I shall not spare any effort to use all my art. You know very well that I don’t covet anything. What has a brahmin to do with wealth? Had I coveted wealth I would have amassed lakhs. So many of my yajmans have become crorepatis and there is no count of those who have become lakhpatis, all with my help. And I remain the same brahmin I have been. That’s it! We don’t allow greed to come near us. From a distance of seven-and-half hundred kos we warn it to keep off. But, of course, one has to spend money on these pujas. And if I perform this one as prescribed in the shastras it would cost no less than one hundred fifty to two hundred rupees. Please understand this.’  

   But even at the age of sixty-five I have remained a fool. I thought hundred-fifty-two-hundred were on the high side. I could not summon the courage to bid higher than this. I had never handled such a big prey. How could I understand its ways? Sethji’s face drooped out of disappointment. He had estimated it to cost ten-twelve thousand. On hearing one-fifty-two-hundred all his faith in my reputation was gone. God Vishwanath had presented a golden opportunity, but what could he do if I was out of luck. If I had said ten thousand I would have become independent for my life time. And what did I bid? One-fifty-two-hundred! My foolishness be cursed!  Now I feel like jumping into the sea. The same day a telegram was sent to a Gonganath Shastri. Now this fellow will fleece sethji. He won’t bid for less than twenty thousand. But there was no use regretting now. Yet I thought if I am not getting it why should someone else take it? Was it not my duty to save my yajman from robbers? I said, ‘I have given you the cost of only the materials. I don’t charge any fees. But you can add one thousand rupees as gift for poor brahmins.’  

   Sethji said, ‘That’s ok. That would be given separately. Your samaggri would cost just two hundred rupees?’

   I said, ‘Yes, nothing more. But I know people who would charge ten to fifteen thousand for such a puja. It would cost only two-fifty-three-hundred, the rest would be swallowed by them. So beware of such crooks.’

   But the seth did not swallow this pill. He said, ‘What’re you saying shastrji? The dish would be sweet only in proportion to the gur you added. Your puja is worth two hundred. You go ahead with it. But my purpose would be served only by a bigger one.’

    Even now I had a chance to lay a trap. I could have said, ‘Sethji, your purpose can be served quite well by a brief ritual. But if you wish I can perform maha-maha-maha Mrityunjaya Yagna and even Brahma-pravikshak. Yes, that would cost about thirteen thousand five hundred rupees.’ But this idea occurred to me only now. I have a strange bent of mind. I can think of a good plan only after the opportunity is gone.  But yes, I have decided that I would deal some serious blows to pandit  Ghongunath. Either I will force him to share half the money or I shall force him to a wrestling bout here in Bumbai. He may be a learned man. but I have spent all my youth in a wrestling arena. I’ll crush him. 

     

   I was regretting at this late realization when the postman handed over an unstamped triangular envelope. I knew it had come by the grace of panditaiyan. Today holding that letter in my hand I sincerely thought about her. The poor woman had spent nearly forty-five years of her life with me, and I had been only fooling her with words. Eyes became tearful. I opened the letter. I read, ‘Bounteous, worshipful, deserving of all superlatives, So, you have set yourself up in Bumbai, shutting your ears. I see  you in my dreams every day and I am unable to sleep.  The fear that you might do something wrong there is killing me. You say you are now sixty-five and cannot go on doing mischief for ever. I have heard vaids have discovered such herbs, eating which a person loses control over himself. There is one vaid in Jhansi and another somewhere else. I plead with folded hands. Don’t eat any such potion. You should remain true to the oath you have sworn with Gangajal in your hands. I won’t let you become a stud bull.’  

   Look, sahib, I have become a bull now. My back is bent and I can’t digest even ser and a half of cream, and panditaiyan has turned me into a stud bull. This too is the result of my folly. I keep on bragging before panditaiyan about my youthfulness and manhood. But that cow does not know that these are white lies. She treats everything I say as absolute truth, and this is the result. This visit away from home is perhaps sharpening my insight.

3

Now, when I realized I had made a mistake and won’t be able to get much more than two hundred, I decided that I should cause him to spend about a hundred or so on feeding me. He should never forget the person he was dealing with. So, I invoked Lord Shiva and pleaded: ‘O Umapati, now protect me. I’m going all out after food, even staking my life on it.’ When my breakfast was brought I said, ‘I don’t find any taste in the food cooked by your cook. Please bring me the provisions. I shall cook my own food.’ The storekeeper said, ‘As you please. Order what I should bring.’ I told him the recipe for the morning: one and quarter ser of fresh butter, half ser almonds, half ser pistachio, half tola saffron, one ser sooji and one ser sugar. The storekeeper stared at me. I said, ‘Why do you stare at me. I’m not going to take it home. Hurry up, go and get it.’ I crushed bhang leaves and rolled them into a ball and swallowed and, invoking the name of Vishwanath, began to cook the halwa. By Lord Shankar’s grace it turned out to be really delicious. I sat down with my legs folded and cleaned it up in half an hour. Leaving nothing even for a fly! The storekeeper was astounded. In the afternoon I fried puris using dough made by mixing flour with water and ghee in equal measure. In the evening, although I had no appetite, I gobbled down a ser and quarter of cream. 

   But now I am no longer the young man who could digest even stones. On the third day I felt symptoms of stomach upset. I realized if I told anyone of this they would say the brahmin was killing himself for food. Therefore I went to a doctor in the mohalla for some digestive medicine. A very big house, a motor, phone. When I introduced myself the doctor looked at me and said, ‘Are you from Kashi?’

I replied, ‘Yes, sahib, may Lord Vishwanath keep you happy. My digestion is upset because of some food disagreeable to my stomach. Give me some medicine.’

   The doctor took me to another room. He made me lie down on a table and began to probe my stomach. Then he examined my chest, then tapped on my back, examined my eyes, and my tongue. Thus, after fatiguing my body for half an hour he said, ‘Well, panditji, I suspect some symptoms of TB. You will have to take treatment for that. I’m a TB ispissilist. I can cure you. But you will have to go to another doctor for a blood test. I cannot say anything for certain without testing your blood. I am giving you a letter for Doctor Subedar. He resides in Chowpatty. He will examine your blood and write to me.’

   I was stunned. I thought of panditaiyan. God, would you bring this body to ruin here in Bumbai? I came here to earn something, and now my life is threatened. There was nothing wrong with me when I left Kashi. I was hale and hearty. It was nothing but Bumbai’s water. Dubey Vijayanand had warned me: ‘Bumbai water is bad. Be careful.’ But how did I know that TB would catch hold of me in just five-ten days.  But nothing can be done now. So let me go and have the blood examined. Why be afraid. I’ll die. That’s all. No one is immortal. Only worry is my family is still unsettled. Had I known my end was so near I wouldn’t have brought forth the last two sons and planted another in her womb. But that is God’s will. Tulsidasji  has said:

                                                        

   Sons and wives know only selfishness; don’t get caught up in their love;

   In the end they would desert you, why not desert them now?   

As I came out I was feeling very sad but the doctor sahib stopped me and said, ‘My fee comes to thirty-two rupees. Should I send the bill to sethji?’

   If Yamraj hadn’t arrived so far he did arrive now. A fee of 32 rupees! I had never paid this much in my life. Vaids and doctors are paid by the rich. We the devotees of Shankar give only blessings. In Kashi whenever I needed I went to Doctor Chowdhry, Doctor Banerjee, Doctor Seth and got the medicine free and also extracted eight annas or a rupee for transport. And here thirty-two rupees for just an ordinary examination! I didn’t know what to do. But then I thought why I should think of money when I was going to die. I came to know that I had TB only after spending thirty-two rupees. Otherwise I would have been dead and no one would have known the cause. There would have been no opportunity to get any treatment. Now I have the opportunity. After all what for does one earn? Now it became necessary to ask if I would have to pay something to Dr. Subedar. So I asked.

   Dr. Sahib laughed heartily and said, ‘You learned people from Kashi are really funny. Would all the pandits in Kashi be satisfied if someone paid dakshina only to one pandit? Tell me?’

   I held my breath and asked, ‘So what would be his fees?’

   ‘His fee is only ten rupees.’

   I said to myself, ‘Ok, now suffer the loss of these ten rupees too. I will earn a new life if I can save my life by spending all that I am going to earn here in Bumbai. Otherwise I would croak here, and there won’t be anyone to mourn my death.’ At that time I felt that I should renounce everything and run away somewhere. I recollected Kabir’s verse reading which I used to laugh once. The whole life was wasted in crooked dealings. What wretched fate now awaited this body:

   O foolish heart, if you fail to pray, you will suffer.

   In the first rebirth a ghost you will be, and repent the next seven births.

   You’ll be born a worm in water, and yet die of thirst.

   In the second birth a parrot, nesting in a garden;

   Your wings broken, hovering hawks would tear you to death.

   Juggler’s monkey next, dancing to the stick;

   Begging from the high and low, no alms you will get.

   An ox in a teli’s home,  going round and round with blinkers;

   Walking fifty kos at home, not one step outside.

   A camel in the fifth birth, carrying great weights

   If you sat you won’t get up, would die groaning;

   Washer man’s donkey, will get no grass;

   Carrying loads will become a load yourself and reach the cremation ground.

Al last I had to say that the bill be sent to sethji. Then enquiring the address I reached Doctor Subedar’s home. It was ten o’clock and I was feeling a mild pain in the stomach. I said to myself  I should first deal with this issue and then what happens depends on Vishwanathji’s will.

   Dr. Subedar looked youthful, dressed in coat-pant. I gave him the letter and he took me to another room and made me lie down and pushed a needle into my arm with such force that I squirmed with pain. Blood flowed from the arm. He transferred it into a glass tube and wiping my arm with something he went into a third room to do what I cannot say. He came out and said, ‘Well, panditji, I can see TB germs in your blood. You will have to go to a hill station and stay there for a long time. You will have to stop reading, but at present I cannot say anything with certainty. You should go to Dr. Ghodepurkar who would examine your urine. I shall give my report after seeing his report.  Only then will I tell you what you should be doing.’

   My body was aflame. For a moment I thought I should forget these doctors and go and buy hud worth two paise and swallow it. If I am to die no doctor on earth can save me. But the desire to live is so strong. So I took his letter and moved towards Doctor Ghodepurkar’s residence. He asked me to urinate in some kind of a tube and kept on doing something for a long time. Then he handed over a report to me and said, ‘Go to Doctor Subedar.’ It was three o’clock when I reached his residence. He prepared his report which I carried to Dr. Lumpet. Dr. Lumpet read both the reports carefully and said, ‘My guess has proved right, panditji. You have contracted TB.’

   With tears in my eyes I asked, ‘So I’ll die?’

   ‘No, no. I won’t let you die. You’ll have to reside in the hills. Good food can cure you. You’ll have to eat eggs.’

   I put my hands on my ears and said, ‘What did you say? Eggs? I won’t even touch eggs, eating is impossible.’

   ‘Oh, this orthodoxy won’t work. You’ll have to eat eggs.’

   ‘I’ll never eat eggs.’

   ‘You’ll die.’

   ‘No matter!’

   ‘I’ll give you a medicine. You can take that at least.’

   ‘No. I’ll neither take any medicine, nor go to any doctor.’

   Saying this I returned to Sethji’s kothi. Since I had eaten nothing during the day I was feeling very hungry. Prepared my bhang drink, answered the call of nature, and then ate to my fill.

   Suddenly sethiji came in a state of alarm and said, ‘Panditji, did Dr. Lumpet examine you? He says you have TB.’

   ‘That is the reward for visiting you. What else.’

   ‘You return to Kashi today itself.’

   ‘I can’t go back without performing the puja.’

   ‘No, no. that’s not needed. You go back  by nine o’clock train.’

   When I saw the state of agitation he was in I realized he did not want to be held responsible for brahma-hatya, killing a bramin. This was my opportunity.

   I said, ‘Going back without completing the puja will endanger my life. It’ll cost at least one thousand to ward off the threat. Where shall I get this much? Then, why fear death? What if I die here?’

   Sethji was shivering with fear. He said, ‘No, panditji. I’ll pay you all the expenses. Please go away today.’

   So the munimji was called and ten currency notes of hundred rupee each were offered to me. I thanked Lord Vishwanath, tucked the notes safely and forgot all about TB.

4

It’s like this: Wherever I go some people begin to pester me, coming to me again and again. In  Bumbai too I could not ward off these good people. It is not that they offer a mohar to me and then state their problem. They just come and narrate their story and, without spending anything, they want that I should tell the details of the puja to be performed. But I am no fool. I listen to them but make them run again and again without telling them anything until they stop coming. If a doctor does not treat a patient free and a lawyer does not touch a case without charge why should I throw away my learning for nothing? What that learning is, I know  just as a doctor and a lawyer know their own. But why should one reveal others’ secrets? The world belongs to him who can fool people. One who does not know this art is worth less than a cowerie.

   Yesterday while I was gulping down cream after a round of bhang a respectable looking person came and sat beside me. Dressed in coat, pant, collar, shoes, hat ⎼ a proper sahib bahadur, for sure. A drooping face, as if his wife were dead. He said, ‘Are you pandit Moteram shastri?’

   I replied, ‘Yes. I’m. How can serve you?’

   Sahib bahadur took out his handkerchief, wiped off the sweat from his head and said, ‘I am in grave difficulty, panditji. I’m totally at a loss. You alone can take my boat across.’

   My heart tickled with joy. This looked like a prey. I said, ‘By God’s grace all the hurdles would be cleared. Don’t worry.’

   ‘What to say, panditji, I hesitate to speak.’

   ‘Don’t hesitate at all. Child-bearing is within my control. If you like I can populate your house with sons. Just one spell of mantras...’

   ‘No. I don’t love children. I am against breeding children.’

   ‘All right, then, do you want to become rich?’

   ‘Who does not want to become rich? But at this moment I haven’t come with that purpose.’

   ‘Ok, then, say freely.  I have no dearth of potency-enhancing mantras. You won’t need to use powders, pulps, pills, ashes, extracts, potions. Just recite the mantra five times and go to bed, and then see its magical effect.’ 

   ‘I have come here for something other than any of these.’

   I was somewhat disheartened. The prey seemed to be slipping away. Even then I consoled him, ‘Say frankly what you want.’

   He asked, ‘Won’t you take it as an insult?’

   I pricked up my ears. I became the more curious.

   ‘If it is something insulting, then I shall certainly feel insulted.’

   ‘The fact is my parents have come to stay with me from the countryside.’

   ‘That’s good. You should treat them with all the respect.’

   ‘But I don’t know how to do that. They haven’t eaten since yesterday.’

   ‘Haven’t eaten! That’s shocking. Are they suffering from a stomach upset? I know Ayurveda too.’

   ‘No, no, Shastriji, they are broader-bodied than you.’

   ‘Do people of broader physique not fall ill?’

   ‘May be they do. But my father never falls ill. And my mother has never had even a headache.’

   ‘Then, they and you are very lucky.’

   ‘Problem is they are very strict in their observances.’

   ‘That is something to be happy about. You are really very lucky.’

   ‘But they won’t eat food cooked by my cook.’

   ‘ Will it lower her dignity if your wife cooks for a few days? It is a woman’s first duty to serve her in-laws.’

   ‘Please don’t mind. I don’t agree with you. You are saying something that used to happen a hundred years ago. Parents should not harass their son and daughter-in-law for small things. Times have changed. Such parents are no longer acceptable now.’

  ‘You’re right. But when parents are visiting you only for a few days, your wife shouldn’t mind taking some trouble.’

   At this the good man raised his eyebrows and said, ‘But she does not know how to cook, shrimaan. Whenever our cook is unable to cook we order food from the hotel. Once we didn’t have money at home and since one has to pay the hotel in cash my wife decided to cook. And, sahib, the dough flowed like condensed milk and the rice was burnt to coal. And on top of it, my wife suffered from headache for three days. Disheartened, we had to stay empty stomach. So, sahib, I don’t want to get into such trouble again. I don’t understand why they refuse to eat hotel food. That is sheer stubbornness. But they are my parents. That’s the problem. Would it be possible for you to cook for them these two-three days they are here? It would be troublesome for you but you’re a brahmin and a brahmin does not mind taking some trouble to do good to others.’

   My blood boiled. I thought I should catch hold of him and floor him, but I restrained myself. He had dishonoured a brahmin. And on top of it the fool did not hesitate a bit to make this request. Getting no reply from me he said, ‘Have you taken it ill?’

   I said, ‘No, why should I take it ill? But for this task you should have approached some small time brahmin. You don’t know me.’

   ‘I know you quite well. You’re a shastri from Kashi. When I was at hostel a shastri from Kashi was my class-fellow. He always used to cook his own food and whenever our mess cook fell ill he used to cook for me too and make me eat with affection. That’s why I requested you.’

    I was speechless. One has to suffer for what the ancestors have done.

   I said, ‘If you so desire I shall come and cook for you, but on one condition, if you accept it.’

   ‘Say what you have to. I shall agree. You have saved me from great difficulty.’

   ‘I shall only give instructions sitting in the kitchen. But everything will have to be done by your wife.’

   ‘But what if she has a headache?’

   ‘I have a remedy for that. A reeling head, or darkness before eyes. I can cure them all.’

   ‘And if she feels hot?’

   ‘You can fan her standing by her side.’

   ‘And if she gets angry and says something to you?’

   ‘Then I shall also lose my temper and when I’m angry I don’t care even for the laat sahib. Yes I can say this much. After that she would never feel angry.’

   ‘And if she begins to argue, would you be able to reply?’

   ‘Wah, what else have I done in life?  First I answer an argument with an argument. When this does not work I begin to use my hands and feet. I have participated in many debates and never come back defeated. I have made many great scholars to drink gur-turmeric.’

   The good man thought for a moment and went away promising to come again. Since then he hasn’t shown his face.

                                                                       ---         

( Hindi, Jagran, July 1934)  

Glossary

(Majority of Indian readers may not need to consult this glossary. But it might be useful for non-Indian readers.) 

Baley Miyan: also Gazi Miyan, 11th century Turkish invader turned into a saint and worshipped both by Hindus and Muslims, lies buried in Bahraich in Uttar Pradesh

Bhava-sagar: in Hindu mythology, ocean as the symbol of worldly existence which a man must cross to attain moksha

Dairy: Moteram is confusing the two words, dairy and diary, something very common in India

Dakshina: payment paid to a pandit for services performed

Four materials: in Hindu mythology, perhaps reference to the four objectives of life: dharma, artha, kama and moksha

Grihastha ashram: the second stage, that of the householder, in the Hindu concept of age-based human life, the first being Brahmacharya, the third being Vanaprastha and fourth Sannyasa

Gur-turmeric: mixture of gur (raw sugar made by boiling sugar cane juice) and turmeric powder prescribed in Ayurveda  to treat bodily injuries

Hud: dried fruit of a tree, of great medicinal value in Aryurveda system of medicine

Katha: story, here a myth or a  legend about Hindu gods or cosmology from one of the Puranas, narrated daily for an audience 

                                           

Kos: Indian unit of distance having different values in different locations, varying between 1 to 5 kilometres 

Kothi: a big house, mansion

Mohar: a silver or gold coin

Pahar: a measure of time, roughly equal to 3 hours. A day from sunrise to sunset was usually divided into four pahars

Pind-dan: in Hinduism, a ritual performed after a person’s death which is believed to give relief to the departed soul and paves its way from the Pretlok, the place of acute suffering where one goes after death, into the Pitrelok, where the souls of the departed find ultimate peace. Piṇḍas are balls of cooked rice and barley flour mixed with ghee and black sesame seeds offered to ancestors during Hindu funeral rites and ancestor worship

Puja: worshipping a god with the object of obtaining a reward by performing certain acts prescribed in the shastras, also  prayer accompanied by some rituals

Raudra: Raudra rasa, one of the eight emtions/sentiments in Sanskrit aesthetics; the dominant emotion in this rasa is anger/wrath

Samaggri: materials needed for a particular activity; here things needed to perform a yagya/puja

Shradha: ancestor worship among Hindus; on a particular day in a year brahmins are fed in the belief that one is feeding one’s ancestors through them

Sindoor: vermillion, applied by married Hindu women in the parting line of their hair to show they are married

Swarga: heaven in Hindu mythology where people who have done good deeds in life go after death

Tola: unit of weight, about 10 grams

Tulsidas: greatest Hindi (Awadhi) poet, (1532-1623), author of Ramcharitmanas

Vaman-roop: in Hindu mythology, refers to the fifth avatar of Vishnu as a dwarf

Varanashrama: in brahmanical texts classification of Hindu society into four castes (varnas): Brahmins, Kashtriyas, Vaishiyas, Shudhras; the first being the highest and the last being the lowest and untouchable

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