Yashodanand had gone to give instructions for dinner to be served. When he came back, this sentence fell into his ears—‘bring the twenty-five down by five and do justice to me’. His face went pale. He rushed towards the boy, snatched the paper from him and said, ‘Fool, what is this you are reading? This is a letter by a client about a case. Where did you fetch this from, you naughty boy? Go, get the paper that was written for you!’
First gentleman: ‘Let him read. The pleasure this note provides will not be there in any other speech.’
Second gentleman: ‘This is truly impressive.’
Third gentleman: ‘Let this party be over now. I am off.’
Fourth gentleman: ‘I will also make a move!’
Yashodanand: ‘Please take your seats. The plates are being laid out.’
First gentleman: ‘Beta Parmanand, come here for a while. Where did you get that note?’
Parmanand: ‘Babuji had written this and kept it in his drawer. He had asked me to read it out. Now he is needlessly angry with me.’
Yashodanand: ‘Was it THAT paper, you pig! I had kept that one on the table. Why did you bring this out from the drawer?’
Parmanand: ‘But I did not find it on the table.’
Yashodanand: ‘Then why didn’t you ask me? Why did you open the drawer? You see what I am going to do to you today. You will remember it forever.’
First gentleman: ‘This is the voice from heaven.’
Second gentleman: ‘This is called leadership. Get what you want and earn the name as well.’
Third gentleman: ‘It’s a matter of shame. Leadership comes from sacrifice and not fraud.’
Fourth gentleman: ‘It did come but was lost by a whisker.’
Fifth gentleman: ‘This is how God punishes the fraudsters.’
People stood up uttering these words. Yashodanand knew that his game was up. Nothing was going to work now. He gave Parmanand dirty looks and gestured menacingly at him. This devil made me lose a winning game today, my face has been blackened. My head has been hung low. He deserves to be shot.
Meanwhile, his friends were leaving with these comments:
First: ‘How God has blackened his face. He will not show his face if he has any grace left.’
Second: ‘I am surprised that such rich, renowned and intelligent people can be so sinful. Take it openly if you want. Who is stopping you? How can you secretly pilfer money and then earn a name for not doing it?’
Third: ‘Shame on the impostor.’
Fourth: ‘I pity Yashodanand. Poor fellow acted so wickedly but was finally exposed. He lost by a whisker.’
Translated from the Hindi by Nishat Zaidi
Initiation1
In my school days when I played football and suffered the rebukes of my teachers, that is to say, during my adolescence, when knowledge hadn’t dawned on me, and my faculties weren’t fully developed, I was an enthusiastic member of the Temperance Society (Association for Prohibition). Every day, I would participate in their demonstrations and collect funds for them. Not only that, I had also taken vows and was determined to stand by them for life. While initiating me into it, the headmaster had asked me, ‘Do you have enough faith in the cause to keep you going for life?’ and I had answered firmly, ‘Yes, I am fully confident!’ The headmaster had smiled and placed the letter of the pledge in front of me. I had felt so ecstatic that day. I had roamed around with my head bursting to the full, swollen with pride. I strutted around proudly. Many a time, I would even misbehave with my father because he used to have a drink every evening in order to overcome the day’s weariness. I found this unbearable. To be honest, my father drank, but in style. The moment he felt a little intoxicated, he would nibble something. He was always a very small eater—and then for the entire night he would be released from the shackles of worldly attachments. I would lecture him and argue with him, all fired up. Once, I crossed all limits. I smashed his glass and bottle on the stone slab with such demonic force that even Krishna wouldn’t have battered Kansa like that. The house was scattered with splinters of glass everywhere and the barefoot women bled for days. But just look at my enthusiasm! I hadn’t anticipated my father’s foresight. When he returned home and heard the grievous news about the loss of his life-giving medicine, he went straight to the market and in no time the empty shelf was refurbished. Meanwhile, I braced myself for the confrontation, but there wasn’t even a flicker of a frown on my father’s face. He looked at me and smiled with encouragement. It seems to me now that it was a look full of happiness, pure goodwill and divine love. He smiled in the same way the headmaster had smiled at me a few months ago. It is only now that I understand the meaning of his smile, at that time I was completely clueless. As far as I can see, this has been the only addition to my knowledge. That smile had been full of sarcasm and ridicule for my childish enthusiasm and pity for my naivety. Only now do I understand its pathos!
All through my college years, I remained steadfast in my vow. Many of my friends gave in. I was considered to be an ideal person. In college there was no getting away with this kind of abstinence. I was made fun of, some would call me a mullah, and others laughed and called me a preacher. My friends sighed contemptuously, ‘What a pity, you haven’t tasted a drop!’ The upshot of this was that I took to being very generous. I would see my friends drinking in the room and I would
