However, Nirupama’s heart began to sink with every passing instant. What will happen now? Somehow, three years have been spent in crafty manipulations, and they have slipped by rather comfortably. But now the hour of trial is at hand. Haye! What a terrible situation! Despite my innocence, I have to suffer such dire consequences. If God does not will that I give birth to a son, why should I be held responsible? But who will hear me out? I am the ill-fated one, I need to be abandoned, I am the ill-omened one because I cannot bear a son! What will happen? In a minute all these celebrations will suddenly be drowned in mourning; all manner of abuses will be showered upon me; I will be cursed by one and all; I am not concerned about my parents-in-law but perhaps my husband will never look at me again; maybe he will surrender his household responsibilities out of sheer despair. All around me there is misfortune. Why am I still alive to witness the ill that will befall my children and my household? A great deal of craft has been put into practice but no advantage can be got from it now. How hopeful I felt in my heart of hearts! I could have looked after my pretty little daughters; watched them grow; married them and sought happiness in watching their children grow. But ah! All these desires seem ready to mingle with the dust! Bhagwan! You alone are their father; you alone are their sentinel! I am about to depart now.
The lady doctor said, ‘Well, it’s a girl again.’
Inside the house, there was weeping and crying; the women beat their breasts and wailed. Tripathiji exclaimed, ‘To hell with such a life; even death has become elusive!’
His father joined in. ‘She is ill-fated, extremely ill-fated!’
The bhikshus remarked, ‘You can cry over your fate, we will look for another place.’
These expressions of sorrow had hardly ceased when the lady doctor announced, ‘The mother is not well. She cannot survive this. Her heart has stopped beating.’
Translated from the Hindi by Fatima Rizvi
Ghost1
Pandit Sitanath Chaubey of Muradabad had been the leader of the advocates for the past thirty years. His father had left him and departed for the other world in his boyhood. The household had no wealth whatsoever. His mother had to undergo great troubles to rear and educate him. At first he became a judicial servant at the court for a salary of fifteen rupees per month. After that he took the law exam. He passed it. He had the talent and so he shone as a lawyer in a span of two to four years. By the time his mother left for her heavenly abode, he was already counted amongst the distinguished people in the district of Shumar. His salary was no less than a thousand rupees per month now. He had built a huge mansion, become the zamindar of some lands, saved some money in the bank and also made some investments. He had four sons, who were studying in different grades. However, to say that all this grandeur was the fruit of Chaubeyji’s non-stop hard work would be an injustice to his wife, Mangala Devi. Mangala was a simple, naive woman; she was adept at household chores and was quite tight-fisted. Till the time she did not have her own house, she never rented one for more than three rupees a month; she did not have a maid to look after her kitchen until now. If she had a fetish, it was only for jewellery; and if Chaubeyji had a fetish it was to get his wife decked up with jewels. He was a true devotee of his wife. Generally in a mehfil it is not considered profane to flirt and joke with the prostitutes; but in his entire life Chaubeyji had never gone to entertain himself in a gathering of song and dance. From daybreak at five till midnight his addiction, entertainment, studies and practice was law. He had no love for politics; neither did he believe in serving his community. He considered all this a waste of time. According to his principles the only worthy thing was to go to the court, debate, save money and sleep after his meal. Just as for a Vedic scholar, the entire world is a big lie except for the universal knowledge, for Chaubeyji the entire society made no sense except for law. Everything else was an illusion, law was the only truth.2
The moon surrounding Chaubeyji’s life was eclipsed by one thing. He did not have a daughter. After the first-born who was a girl, they never had a daughter again and there was no hope of having one now. Husband and wife both shed tears in her memory. Girls throw more tantrums than boys in their childhood. The two lives were disconcerted by the fact that they were deprived of the pleasure of watching those tantrums. The mother thought that if she had a daughter, she’d make jewels for her, she’d plait her hair . . . It would be such a pleasure to watch the girl toddle in the courtyard with her anklets on! Chaubey thought, how would it be possible to get redemption without kanyadaan? Kanyadaan is the greatest charity. One who is unable to do this charity—his birth is rendered useless.
At last this greed became so strong that Mangala decided to bring her little sister from her parents’ home and raise her as her own daughter. Mangala’s parents were poor. They agreed to it. In fact, this girl was the daughter of Mangala’s stepmother. She was very beautiful and very naughty. Her name was Binni. Chaubeyji’s house got a new life with her arrival. In a few days the girl forgot about her own parents. She was only four years old, but apart from playing she
