![[Pewm%2520Chand%255B4%255D.png]](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGWcq_OXL83GCcN3zc-Yl9eL2SzyAt97c02-Kfqsz9EELKlUpPqc2f53xq4V34MrYCpkWOrIIS_YBnQQO5GwtB7Nq5knL07hM7SPgb64mhy0c59cy9E-1xk_evVsHmhC5f8SXia5eEY1c/s1600/Pewm%252520Chand%25255B4%25255D.png)
A Widow of Many Sons
(बेटों वाली विधवा)
1
When Pandit Ayodhyanath
died everyone said God should grant such a death to everyone. He had four young
sons and one daughter. Three of the four sons
were married, the youngest son and the daughter were still to be married.
Panditji left very substantial wealth and property. One pucca house, two
orchards, ornaments worth many thousands, and twenty thousand in cash. Widowed
Phoolmati remained in a state of shock for many days, but she recovered soon
when she thought of her four youthful sons. All the four sons were well-behaved
and all the three daughters-in-law so obedient!
When she lay down to sleep at night they would take turns to press her legs.
And when she woke up to bathe they would be ready with her sari. The household
ran according to her commands. The eldest son, Kamta, was in service at an
office for fifty rupees; the second, Umanath had obtained a degree in medicine
and was looking to open his own dispensary; the third, Dayanath, had failed his
BA exam but was able to earn something by writing for some magazines; and the
fourth, Sitanath was the most intelligent and, having passed his BA in first
division, was now studying for his MA degree. None of the boys had any bad, or
waywardly or wasteful habits that scorch the parents’ hearts or sink the family’s
reputation. Phoolmati was the mistress of the house, although the keys were in
the hands of the eldest daughter-in-law. The old woman didn’t have that love of
power which makes old people bitter and cantankerous, yet no child dared ask
for sweets against her wishes.
It was the evening of
the twelfth day after Panditji’s death. Tomorrow would be the thirteenth day.
Brahmins would be feasted. All the members of the community had been invited.
Preparations were on for the feast. Phoolmati was watching the proceedings
sitting in her room. The workers were bringing in bags of flour, cans of ghee,
basketfuls of vegetables, sacks of sugar, and potfuls of curds. All the gifts
for donation on the great occasion had been assembled – utensils, clothes, cots
and bedclothes, umbrellas, shoes, walking sticks, lanterns. But nothing was
shown to Phoolmati. The custom required that these things should have been
first brought before her. She would have looked at each item, approved it,
altered its quantity, and only then these things should have been kept in the
storeroom. Why did no one think it proper to consult her? Why did they bring
only three sackfuls of flour where as she had asked for five? And there were only five cans of ghee instead
of the ten she had asked for! In the same way they must have retrenched on
vegetables, sugar and curds. Who had intervened to change her orders? Who had
the right to change once she had decided?
Untill today for the
last forty years Phoolmati’s word had been the law. If she said one hundred
rupees it was one hundred, and if she said one it was one. No one picked holes
in her decisions. So much so that even Pandit Ayodhyanath wouldn’t go against
her wishes. But today her orders were being disregarded so openly. How could
she accept this?
She restrained herself
for some time but in the end she couldn’t hold back. Absolute rule had become
her nature. Filled with anger she walked towards Kamtanath and said, ‘Have you brought
only three sackfuls of flour? I had ordered for five. And only five tins of
ghee? Remember I had asked for ten. I am not against thrift, but it is shameful
that the soul of one who dug the well should thirst for water.’
Kamtanath neither
apologized, nor accepted it as a mistake, nor felt ashamed. For a moment he
stood there in a defiant posture, but then said, ‘We decided that we should buy
only three bags, and five tins of ghee were enough for three bags. All the
other provisions have been reduced in the same proportion.’
Phoolmati said angrily,
‘By whose advice was the quantity of flour reduced?’
‘It was decided by us.’
‘So my view doesn’t
matter?’
“It does, but we must
also weigh up our loss and
gain.’
Phoolmati was stunned.
She couldn’t unravel the intent behind this statement. Our loss and gain! It was she herself who was responsible for the
loss or gain in her house. Others, even if they were sons born of her womb, had
no right to interfere in these affairs. This boy was behaving so brazenly as if
the house belonged to him, as if it was he who had painstakingly built this
household, and she was nobody. What arrogance!
Her face red with
anger, she said, ‘You’re not answerable for my loss or gain. I have the
authority to do what I think is right. Go now and bring another two sackfuls of flour
and five tins of ghee; and be warned that in future no one disregards my will.’
Phoolmati thought she
had gone too far and need not have been so harsh. She regretted she had lost
her temper. After all they were young and would have thought of saving some
money. And they wouldn’t have thought of consulting her knowing that she
herself was a careful spender. Had they known that she wouldn’t like to
exercise thrift on this occasion they wouldn’t have dared disregard her wishes.
Although Kamtanath still stood there and didn’t show any keenness to obey her,
Phoolmati walked into her room well satisfied. She couldn’t even imagine that
anyone would dare disobey her after that rebuke.
However, as the day
passed the truth began to dawn on her ⎼
that she didn’t have the same authority in the house as she had ten-twelve days
ago. Their relatives had sent sugar, sweets, curds and pickles etc. for the
occasion, and the eldest daughter-in-law was taking care of these as if she was
the head of the household. No one came to consult her. And members of the clan
who needed any information, talked either to Kamtanath or his wife. Kamtanath
has no knack for managing things. His mind remains befuddled with bhang all the
time and he goes to office very unwillingly and does not attend office for more
than fifteen days in a month. Had it not been for Panditji’s influence with the sahib he would have been dismissed from service long ago. And this
good-for-nothing eldest daughter-in-law won’t understand these things. She, who
can’t take care of her own wardrobe, is pretending to run the household. They
will mismanage, and together they would bring a bad name to the family. They
would fall short of something at the last moment. One must have a lot of
experience for these things. There would be such a surfeit of some items that
they would go waste, and such shortfall of some others that they won’t reach
every leaf-plate. What’s gone wrong with them? And, now, why is the
daughter-in-law opening the locker? How can she open it without her permission?
No doubt the keys are in her custody, yet the locker is not opened until she
herself wants the cash to be taken out. And today she is opening it as if she
herself was nobody. She can’t stand it.
She jumped up from her
seat and, moving towards her daughter-in-law, and said in a harsh voice,
‘Why’re you opening the locker? I didn’t ask you to do it.’
The daughter-in-law
answered without any hesitation, ‘Some provisions were ordered from the market.
Should they not be paid for?’
‘I must first know the
quantity and the rates before the payment can be made. Nothing has been
calculated. How can you make the payment?’
‘Everything has been
calculated.’
‘Who did it?’
‘Now, how do I know
this? Go and ask the men. I was ordered to bring the money. And I am doing it.’
Phoolmati swallowed the
insult quietly. This was not the occasion to show her anger. The house was full
of guests. If she rebuked her sons now, people would say that the family had
broken up so soon after Panditji’s death. With a heavy heart, as if loaded with
stones, she walked into her room. She would give each one of them a dressing
down once the guests have departed. Then she would see how they stand up to
her. They would forget all their brazenness.
But even in the quiet
of her room she remained restless. She was observing the goings-on with
vulture-eyed keenness: Which rules of hospitality might be broken, or the
bounds of tradition crossed. The feast had begun. The whole community was made to sit all at once. No more than two hundred people can be seated in the
courtyard. How would they accommodate five hundred guests in this space? Why
couldn’t they make guests eat in two batches? They could have ended at two
o’clock instead at twelve. But here everyone was in a hurry to finish, and go
to sleep. See how the guests are crowding around the place, unable to move
their hands freely. The leaf-plates are overlapping. The puris have gone cold. People are demanding hot ones. Puris made from maida become leathery when cold. Who’s going to eat them? Why have they made the cook sit away from
the kadai? All this is going to bring
disgrace to the family.
Suddenly there was a
hullabaloo. No salt in the dishes! The eldest daughter-in-law hurriedly began
to grind salt. Phoolmati was boiling with anger but she bit her lips, for it
would be wrong to open her mouth on this occasion. The powdered salt was put on
leaf-plates. Now there was another shout. People were asking for cold water. No
arrangement had been made for iced water. A man was sent to the market to bring
ice, but such a large quantity of ice was not available at this hour. The man
returned empty handed. The guests had to drink luke warm tap water.
Phoolmati would have liked to claw at her sons’ faces. Such a demeaning thing
had never happened before. And all of them were dying to assume control of
everything! No one had the sense to order an important thing like ice. How
could they when all they were interested in was gossiping? What would the
guests think? Such a big feast and no ice!
Now what’s this noise
again? Oh people are walking out. What’s gone wrong now?
Phoolmati could no
longer remain a spectator. She came out of her room and questioned Kamtanath.
‘What’s it? Why’re the guests walking out?’ Kamtanath made no reply and slipped
away. Phoolmati was annoyed. Suddenly she saw the water-carrier. Phoolmati
asked and came to know that a dead mouse pup had been found in a guest’s curry.
Phoolmati stood dumbfounded. She was so outraged that she wanted to break her
head against the wall. The fools! This is how they had managed the feast. There
can be no limit to their folly. Why
shouldn’t the guests walk out? Who would stand such a defilement of their dharma? All their efforts have come to a naught.
Hundreds of rupees gone waste! And on top of that the disgrace!
The guests had risen
from their seats. The food was lying uneaten on the leaf-plates. All the four
brothers stood in the courtyard shame-faced. They were throwing the blame on
each other. The eldest daughter-in-law was blaming the other daughters-in-law
and they were in return blaming her. Kumud was crying. At that very moment
Phoolmati came there and said, ‘What more do you need to have your faces
painted black? Go and drown yourselves, all of you, in a palmful of water. You
are unfit to show your faces in the city.’ No one answered.
Phoolmati became still
fiercer. ‘How does it matter to you, who’re shameless? It is his soul that is
crying, he who spent all his life building the reputation of this household.
You have dishonoured his pure soul. The whole city is talking about it. Now no
one would come even to piss at your door.’
Kamtanath stood quietly
listening to all this. At last he lost his cool and said,’ Ok, now keep quiet amma. It was a mistake, we accept, a
grave mistake. Will you now keep plying the knife on our throats? Everyone
makes mistakes and one feels sorry. You can’t kill someone for this.’
The eldest
daughter-in-law tried to pass the blame. ’How did we know Kumud won’t be able
to manage even this much. She should have put the vegetables into the kadai with care. She just emptied the
basket into it.’
Kamatanath rebuked his
wife: ‘Neither you nor Kumud is to blame for this. It is just a chance. Our
misfortune that this had to happen. For such a big feast vegetables are not
put into the kadai by handfuls. Whole
baskets are emptied. Such unhappy accidents do happen sometimes. Why should
people laugh at it or put us to shame. You are needlessly adding fuel to the
fire.’
Phoolmati crunched her
teeth and said, ‘You don’t feel any shame, on the other hand you’re talking so
brazenly.’
Kamtanath replied
without mincing his words, ‘Why should I feel guilty? I haven’t stolen
anything. No one cares about ants in sugar and weevils in flour. We didn’t see
it and that spoiled everything. Had we quietly removed the pup no one would
have noticed.’
Phoolmati was shocked.
‘What’s this? You won’t have hesitated to defile everyone’s dharma by feeding
them a dead rat!’
Kamtanath said with a
laugh, ‘Amma, no one loses his dharma
like this. Tell me which one among these dharma-abiding fellows doesn’t eat
goat or lamb. They don’t even spare tortoises and snails found in the pond. How
did a small rat pup matter?’
Phoolmati now felt the
doomsday was not far away. When the educated people begin to entertain such
anti-dharmic views then God alone can protect the dharma. She walked away
feeling humiliated.
2
Two months passed by.
One evening after the day’s work the four brothers were sitting together confabbing. The eldest daughter-in-law was also taking part in the
machinations. The subject of discussion was Kumud’s marriage.
Kamtanath, as he sat
reclining against a thick cylindrical pillow, was saying, ‘What dadaji said should go with him. Murari pandit
is certainly learned and must also be highborn, but someone who barters his learning and
high birth for money degrades himself. We won’t marry our Kumud to the son of such a
person even if we have to spend nothing, certainly not if it is five thousand
rupees. Say no to him and look for another match. We have only twenty thousand
rupees in all, and each one of us would get only five thousand. If we part with five thousand as dowry, and throw away five on gifts and tips and music, we’ll be ruined.’
Umanath said, ‘I need
at least five thousand to open my dispensary. I can’t spare even one pie out of my share. And then I won’t be able to earn anything to start with. I’ll have to
feed myself from my own resources for at least a year.’
Dayanath was reading a
newspaper. Removing his spectacles, he said, ‘I’m planning to start my own
paper. I need a capital of at least ten thousand for the press and the paper.
If I invest five thousand I would be able to find a partner. I can’t live just
by writing for newspapers.’
Kamtanath shook his
head and said, ‘God knows, no one publishes an article for free. Where’s the
question of payment?’
Dayanath objected, ‘No,
that’s not true. I never write without an advance.’
Kamtanath replied, as
if retracting, ‘I’m not talking of you, bhai. You’re able to extract something, but
everyone doesn’t get it.’
The eldest
daughter-in-law interjected graciously, ‘If a girl is fortune’s favourite, she
can be happy even in a poor family. If she is out of luck she will be unhappy even in a princely home. That’s how destiny plays with you.’
Kamtanath looked at his
wife approvingly. ‘And then, we have to marry off Sita too.’
Sitanath was the
youngest of the brothers. He was sitting with his head lowered, burning to
respond to the selfishness of his brothers. He opened out as soon as he heard
his name, ‘Don’t worry about me. I won’t think of marrying until I can earn for
myself. And the fact is I don’t want to get married at all. Today the country
needs not more children but people who work. You can spend my share of the
money on Kumud’s marriage. Since everything has been settled it would be wrong
to break the agreement with pandit Murarilal.’
Uma retorted sharply, ‘How
shall we arrange ten thousand rupees?’
Sita responded timidly,
‘I only want to forego my share.’
‘And the rest?’
‘We should ask
Murarilal to reduce on dowry. I don’t think he is so selfish and may settle for
less. If he agrees on three thousand, then five thousand should be enough for the
marriage.’
Uma said to Kamtanath,
‘Do you hear what he says?’
Dayanath spoke out,
‘But you don’t lose anything. He is forgoing his share. Spend it. We have
nothing against Murari Pandit. I’m happy that at least
one among us is willing to give up his share. He doesn’t need any money now. He
has his government scholarship. Once he has completed his studies he’ll get a
job. That’s not the case with us.’
Kamtanath spoke, showing
his farsightedness, ‘It’s not a question of us losing anything. If one of us is in difficulty, will the others remain indifferent? He‘s just a boy and doesn’t
understand. In bad times even one rupee equals one lakh. Who knows he may get a
scholarship to study in Vilyat or enter the Civil Service. At that time he would
need four to five thousand rupees for expenses. Whom would he approach for help
then? I don’t wish his prospects be ruined for the sake of this dowry.’
Sitanath capitulated
against this reasoning. Hesitating a little he said, ‘In such a situation I
would certainly need money.’
‘Is that impossible?’
‘Not impossible, but it
is certainly not easy. Scholarships are given to those who have
connections. Who’s going to help me?’
‘Sometimes connections
also fail and people without them win scholarships.’
‘Then do what you think
is proper. All I want is that Kumud should be well married, whether or not I go
to Vilyat.’
Kamtanath said with a
strong conviction, ‘Bhai, you don’t find a good family merely through a good dowry.
As your bhabi says, this is the play
of destiny. I want that we should refuse Murarilal’s proposal and look for
another family that agrees on a small dowry. I can’t spend more than one
thousand on this marriage. What about pandit Dindayal?’
Uma responded happily
‘He’s very good. He may not be a graduate or post graduate but has a good
income from his priestly services.’
Dayanath objected, ‘We
should first consult amma.’
Kamtanath did not think
this necessary. He said, ‘She seems to have lost her reason. The same
old-fashioned ideas. She’s stuck on Murarilal. She doesn’t understand that
times have changed. She wants Kumud to be wedded into pandit Murari’s family,
even if we’re ruined.’
Uma raised another
apprehension, ‘Amma will gift all her
ornaments to Kumud, you’ll see.’
Kamtanath’s selfishness
couldn’t cross the limits of the established custom. He said, ‘She has full
rights on her ornaments. This is her stridhan;
she can gift it the way she likes.’
Uma said, ‘So what if
it’s her stridhan, she can’t throw it
away like this. After all, this too has come from dada’s earnings.’
‘It may be anyone’s
earning, she has absolute rights on it.’
‘These are legal sophistries. Twenty thousand
should be divided among four and the ornaments worth ten thousand should belong
to amma alone. You’ll see amma would marry off Kumud in
Murarilal’s family using these ornaments.’
Umanath could not let
go such a big sum so easily. He was a skillful con man. He would trick his
mother to part with the ornaments. It would be wrong to anger Phoolmati now by
talking about Kumud’s marriage. Kamtanath said that he didn’t approve of such
crooked ways.
Umanath got irritated,
‘The ornaments must be valued at ten thousand,’
Kamtanath replied
angrily, ‘Whatever their value, I can’t go against the custom.’
‘Then you keep off.’
‘Yes, I’ll keep off.’
And you, Sita?’
‘I too would keep off.’
When Umanath raised
this question with Dayanath he was willing to join him. He would get at least
two and a half thousand out of it. It was excusable to trick someone for such a
large sum.
3
Phoolmati, having eaten, had just lain down to
sleep when Uma and Daya came and sat down beside her. From their facesit looked
as if great misfortune had befallen them. She said, apprehensively, ‘You look
upset?’
Scratching his head,
Uma said, ‘Writing for the newspapers is a very risky thing. One may be as
careful as possible but one is caught sometime. Dayanath wrote an article for
which now a bail amount of five thousand has been demanded. If the amount is
not paid by tomorrow he may be arrested and jailed for ten years.’
Phoolmati beat her head
and said, ‘Why do you write such things, son? We have fallen on evil days.
Can’t the demand be avoided somehow?’
Daya replied like a
victim, ‘Amma, I hadn’t written
anything objectionable but what can I do against fate. The district officer is
very strict and doesn’t relent. I have been running about everywhere, now no
more.’
‘Didn’t you ask Kamta
to arrange for money?’
Uma contorted his face
and said, ‘You know his attitude, amma.
He loves money more than his life. Daya might be sent to Kalapani, but he won’t part with a
single pie.’
Dayanath supported him,
‘I didn’t even tell him of my problem.’
Phoolmati rose from her
cot, saying, ‘Come with me. How can he refuse? Money is meant to be used on such
occasions, not for hoarding.’
Umanath stopped his
mother, ‘No, amma, don’t talk to him.
He won’t pay, and worse, he would raise a hue and cry. He has his own job to save and he may even drive Dayanath out of the house. It won’t be surprising if he
goes and complains to the officers.’
Phoolmati asked out of
helplessness, ‘Then how would you arrange for the bail? I don’t have anything. But yes, I have my ornaments. Take them and pawn them for bail. And touch your ears and
swear never to write a word for the newspapers.’
Dayanath touched his
ears and said, ‘I can’t do this, amma.
I can’t use your ornaments to save my skin. What if I spend five-ten years in
jail? What am I doing here?’
Phoolmati beat her
breast and said, ‘Don’t talk like this. Who can arrest you so long as I’m
alive? I’ll singe his face. Ornaments are meant to be used on such occasions.
If you’re in trouble, what use are the ornaments?’
She brought her box of
ornaments and put it before him.
Daya looked as if
pleadingly towards Uma and said, ‘What do you think, bhai sahib? That’s why I told you not to let amma know of this. I would have been jailed, nothing more.’
Uma said, ‘How could amma remain ignorant of such a serious
matter. I myself couldn’t have kept it locked in my breast. But I can’t decide
what is to be done. I neither like the idea of your going to jail nor one
of pawning amma’s ornaments.’
Phoolmati responded
with a heart-rending speech, ‘What do you think? Do I love my ornaments more
than you? I can give my life for you, these ornaments are nothing.’
Daya said very
forcefully, ‘Amma, I won’t use your
ornaments, come what may. Till today I have done nothing to serve you. How can
I take away your ornaments? A son like me should not have been born of your
womb. I have given you nothing except pain.’
Phoolmati spoke with
equal vehemence, ‘If you don’t take them, I’ll myself go and pawn the ornaments
and go to the district officer to deposit the bail. If you like you can test
me. God knows what would happen after my eyes are shut, but as long as I am
alive no one can cast an evil eye on you.’
Umanath spoke as if he
was being generous to his mother, ‘Dayanath, now you have no choice. Take them.
But remember the moment you have money in hand you’ll have to retrieve them. It
is truly said that motherhood is a great penance. Who else can show such
affection! We’re very unfortunate that we don’t show even a fraction of
devotion we should.’
Both the brothers took
hold of the box as if committing a grave dharmic transgression, and made off
with the ornaments. Their mother was watching them with great maternal
affection and her soul was longing to take them in its embrace. Today after
months her motherly heart had the blissful satisfaction of having sacrificed
her all. It was as if her innermost being had been looking for such a
self-sacrificing occasion. There was no trace of any desire for dominance or
profit or show of motherly love; it was pure and simple renunciation and the
joy of it. This alone was her rightful possession and in having sacrificed her
own life for her offspring she had found fulfillment.
4
Three months went by
and the four brothers, having swindled their mother out of her ornaments, set
about to placate her. They told their wives not to hurt her. Where was the harm
if she can be pleased with small courtesies? They did as they pleased; only
making a show of consulting her by using all their wiles to obtain her consent.
She hated the idea of selling off her garden, but the four wove such a web of
deceit that she became ready to sell it. But no agreement could be reached on Kumud’s marriage. Amma was adamant
on pandit Murarilal and the boys were insisting on Deendayal. Then one day a
quarrel broke out.
Phoolmati said, ‘A
daughter too has a share in her parents' property. You got a garden worth
sixteen thousand, a house worth twenty-five thousand and twenty thousand in
cash. Can’t Kumud get even five thousand?’
Kamta spoke
courteously, ‘Amma, if Kumud is your
daughter, she’s our sister too. You will be gone in a few years but we’ll have
dealings with her for a long time after. Then we would do everything within our
means to support her. But if you talk of her share then Kumud has no share in
this property. It would have been different if dada had been alive. He could
have spent as much as would have liked on her marriage and no one could have stopped him. But now we have to spend each and every paisa with care. Why spend five
thousand on something that can be done in one?’
Umanath corrected him,
‘Not five, ten thousand.’
Kamta raised his
eyebrows and said, ‘No I’ll say five thousand. We can’t afford to spend five
thousand on a marriage.’
Phoolmati became
insistent, ‘Whether five thousand or ten thousand, it will have to be
Murarilal’s son. It’s my husband’s earning. I have saved it pinch by pinch.
I’ll spend it as I like. You are not the only ones born out of my womb. Kumud was also born from the same womb. All are
equal in my eyes. I don’t ask for anything from anyone. And watch the fun, I shall do everything
myself. Out of the twenty thousand five thousand is Kumud’s share.’
Kamta now had no option
but to blurt out the bitter truth: ‘Amma,
you are needlessly making an issue of it. The money you think to be yours
doesn’t belong to you at all. That is ours. You can’t spend even a bit of it
without our consent.’
Phoolmati felt as she
was bitten by a snake, ‘What did you say? Say it again. That I can’t spend the
money that I myself have saved? ‘
‘That money’s no longer
yours. It’s ours now.’
“That would be yours,
but after my death.’
‘No, that’s ours after dada’s death.’
Umanath remorselessly
interjected, ‘Amma, don’t argue, you
know nothing of the law.’
Driven by anger
Phoolmati broke down, ‘I don’t care for your law. I accept no such law. Your
dada was not such a wealthy man. It’s I who have built this household brick by
brick, cutting on my stomach. Otherwise you would have been sitting without a
roof on your head. You can’t touch the money as long as I’m alive. I have spent
ten thousand rupees on the marriages of each of the three brothers. I’ll spend
the same amount on Kumud’s marriage.’
Kamta also flared up,
‘You have no right to spend any money.’
Umanath upbraided his
brother, ‘Bhai sahib, why’re you
wasting your breath? Just write a letter to Murarilal that we cannot marry
Kumud into his family. That’s all. She doesn’t know the law and is squabbling
for nothing.’
Phoolmati controlled
herself and said, ‘All right, tell me what the law is.’
Uma replied pitilessly,
‘This, that after father’s death the property belongs to the sons. Mother’s
rights are limited to only food and clothing.’
Phoolmati shouted
angrily, ‘Who has made this law?’
Uma replied very
coolly, ‘Our rishis, maharaj Manu,
who else.’
Phoolmati was
dumbstruck, but said with a hurtful heart, ‘Do you think I live here on your
crumbs?’
Umanath spoke with the
cruel detachment of a judge, ‘As you like.’
Phoolmati’s spirit
revolted against this bolt from the blue. Words came out of her mouth like
sparks from a fire, ‘I built the household and this property. I gave you birth
and brought you up. And now I’m an outsider here. Is this Manu’s law and you
want to follow it? All right, take hold of your household. I don’t wish to live
under your guardianship, and wish I were dead. I planted the tree and now I
can’t stand under its shade. If this is the law then it should be burnt.’
Mother’s anger had no
effect on any of the four young men. Law’s steel armour protected them against
these brickbats.
Phoolmati left the
place soon after. For the first time in her life her motherly affection had hit
her like a curse. The motherhood, which she had regarded as the greatest
blessing of her life, and for which she was gladly willing to sacrifice all her
desires and urges, had now become a furnace in which her life was being burnt
to ashes.
It was evening. The neem tree at the door stood quiet, its branches
bowed down; as if anguished at the ways of the world. In the horizon the source
of light and life was, like Phoolmat’s motherhood, aflame on its funeral pyre.
5
When Phoolmati lay down
in her room she realized that her back was broken. She hadn’t ever imagined
that sons born from her womb would turn her enemies soon after her husband’s
death. The sons whom she had brought up on her own lifeblood had dealt such a
heart-rending blow. Now this house had become a bed of thorns for her, where
she had no dignity, where she counted for nothing, and it was unacceptable that
she should spend her days as an orphan living on others’ crumbs. But there was
no way out. If she lived apart from her sons it would blacken the name of the
family. Whether the world spat on her face or on her sons’ faces it was all the
same. People would say that in spite of being the mother of four sons the old
woman was forced to live as a wage earner. Those whom she had treated as lowly
would now mock her. No, that dishonor would be worse than what she faced at
home. It was better to suffer behind closed doors than face public mockery. She
would have to adapt herself according to the circumstances. Now she would have
to live not like an owner but as a bondwoman. That was God’s will. The insults and
humiliations from one’s sons’ were better than these from strangers.
For a long time, covering her face, she kept crying. The whole night passed in great
anguish. The winter sun rose from the red east as if a prisoner had escaped
from jail. Phoolmati rose from her bed much earlier, against her normal
routine. Her mental state had been transformed during the night. Everyone in
the house was asleep and she was sweeping the courtyard. The hard surface of
the courtyard drenched in frost was biting her naked feet like thorns. Panditji
had never let her wake up early in the morning. The winter season was very
harmful for her health. But those days were now gone and she was trying to change her nature according to the times. After sweeping the floor she lit up the fire and began
to sift out fine stone particles from rice and dal. After sometime her sons woke. Then the daughters-in-law. All
of them saw the old woman working in shivering cold. No one stopped her.
Perhaps they were all pleased at the old woman’s crushed pride.
From now on this became
the rule for Phoolmati. To work unremittingly and to remain disinterested in
everything else. The face that had once radiated self-pride now reflected
deep anguish. Where there was once an
electric light there now flickered an oil lamp that a whiff of air could
blow out.
The decision to write a
refusal letter to Murarilal had been made, so the letter was written. Kumud’s
marriage to Deendayal was settled.
Deendayal was a little over forty. In status he was a shade lower but he
was making a good living. He agreed to marry without any settlement about
dowry. The date was fixed. The marriage party arrived, the marriage took place,
and Kumud was sent off. Who can know how Phoolmati felt, or how Kumud felt. But
the four brothers were happy, as if the thorn pricking their hearts had been
removed. Born in a high-rank family Kumud could not protest openly. If she was destined to be happy it would
be so, if not she would suffer. God’s will is the last resort for the helpless.
The man whom she was married to may have a hundred flaws, but he was her
worshipful master. Going against this belief was beyond her imagination.
Phoolmati didn’t
interfere in anything. What gifts were given to Kumud, how the guests were
entertained, what gifts were received from near relations ⎼ she took no notice. If
she was consulted on any matter she said, ‘Son, whatever you do, you are the
best judges. Why ask me?’
When the time for
Kumud’s departure came she embraced her mother and began to cry. Phoolmati took
her to her room and handed over to her the little money and a few commonplace
ornaments that were left with her and said, ‘I have been helpless. Otherwise this is not
how you would have been married, and sent off.’
Till now Phoolmati
hadn’t talked of the fate of her ornaments to anyone. Whether or not she
understood the fraud her sons had played on her, she knew that she won’t get
the ornaments back. Asking them back would only increase the bitterness. But at
this moment she felt the need to explain. Kumud should not go away with the
feeling that her mother had kept back her ornaments for her daughters-in-law.
But Kumud already knew this, so she handed the money and the ornaments back to her
mother and said, ‘Amma, your
blessings are more than enough for me. Keep these things with you. You may need
them sometime.’
Phoolmati wanted to say
something but just then Umanath came and said, ‘Kumud, what’re you
doing? Hurry up; the auspicious time for send-off is passing. They are asking
us to hurry up. You’ll be coming back in a few months. You can then take
whatever you have to.’
It was like adding
insult to injury. Phoolmati said, ‘I have nothing to give her, son. Go, my
daughter, may God protect you husband.’
Kumud went away.
Phoolmati fell down flat. Her desire to live was gone.
6
A year went by.
Phoolmati’s room in the
house was the largest and the most airy. She had vacated it for her eldest
daughter-in-law and had begun to live in a small room, as if she was a beggar
here. She had no affection for her sons and daughters-in-law. She was a bondwoman here. She showed no interest in any household affair, or person or object. She
was alive because death would not come to her. She had no knowledge of the joys
and sorrows of the family. Umanath opened his dispensary. Friends were feasted
and there was dancing. Dayanath started his press, and there was feasting once
again. Sitanath got a scholarship and he went to Vilayat and there was
celebration again. The sacred thread ceremony for Kamtanath’s eldest son was
performed with great pomp, yet there was no trace of joy on Phoolmati’s face.
Kamtanath contracted typhoid and was bed-ridden for a month. Dayanath, in order
to increase the circulation of his paper, wrote an objectionable article and
spent six months in jail. Umanath took bribe to write a false report in a
criminal case and his licence was cancelled. Yet Phoolmati's face showed no shade of sorrow. In her life there was no hope, no interest, and no
anxiety. To work like animals and eat, that was all she lived for. An animal
works only when forced but eats wholeheartedly. Phoolmati worked without being
asked, and ate as if she was swallowing poison. For months she wouldn’t oil her
hair, or wash her clothes. She had become indifferent to everything.
It was the monsoon
time. Malaria was spreading. The sky was overcast with dark clouds and the
earth was covered with muddy water. The humid air was breeding cold and asthma.
The domestic maid had fallen ill. Phoolmati washed all the utensils, did all
the chores wetting herself in rain. Then she lit the fire and started cooking.
The boys should get their food on time. All of a sudden she remembered that
Kamtanath didn’t drink tap water. So she started for the
Ganga to fetch water even while it was raining.
Kamtanath said, as he lay on the cot, ‘Leave it, amma, I’ll bring the water. The maid has let us down.’
Kamtanath said, as he lay on the cot, ‘Leave it, amma, I’ll bring the water. The maid has let us down.’
Phoolmati looked at the
overcast sky and said, ‘Son, you’ll get wet and catch cold.’
Kamtanath said, ’You
too are getting wet. You’d fall ill.’
Phoolmati said in a
sarcastic tone, ‘I won’t fall ill. God has made me immortal.’
Umanath was sitting
close by. His dispensary wasn’t earning anything, so he was quite worried. He
had to look up to his brother and sister-in-law for support. He said, ‘Bhai, leave it. She has reigned over her
daughters-in-law for too long. Let her expiate.’
The Ganga was in full
spate and looked like the sea. The other end of the river was touching the
horizon. The trees on the banks were drowned in water up to their branches. The
ghats were under water right up to the last step. Phoolmati stepped into the
water with the brass vessel, filled it and was walking back when her foot
slipped. She lost her balance and fell into the river. She kicked her hands and
feet but the waves carried her downwards. A few pandas on the bank shouted, ‘Oh run, the old woman is drowning.’ A
few people ran to save her but the old woman had been swallowed by the whirling
waves.
Someone asked, ’Who was
that old woman?’
‘Oh the same, Pandit
Ayodhyanath’s widow.’
‘Ayodhyanath was a big
man.’
‘Yes he was. But she
was destined to face the cruelties of fate.’
‘She has many grown-up
sons. All of them are doing well.’
Oh yes, brother. But
there’s something called destiny, too.’
(Hindi,
Chand, November 1932)
---
