It was the occasion of Teej in the month of Bhadon. A cleaning operation was going on in the houses. Housewives, nicely decked up, were going to take the ritual bath in the Ganga. Amba had returned after her bath and was invoking God by standing before the tulsi tree. This was her first Teej in her husband’s house; she’d kept the vow devotedly. Suddenly her husband came in, looked at her with smiling eyes and said, ‘What is this fellow Munshi Darbarilal to you? A gift has arrived for you for Teej. The postman delivered it a little while ago.’
Saying this he placed a parcel on the bed. Amba’s eyes became moist the moment she heard Darbarilal’s name. She bent to pick up the parcel and stared at it for some time, but she didn’t have the courage to open it. Her past memories rekindled and her regard for Hazarilal welled up in her heart. It was because of the sacrifice of that godlike man that she was now enjoying good days. May God grant him salvation. He was not an ordinary man but a deity who had sacrificed his life for her welfare.
Her husband asked, ‘Is Darbarilal your uncle?’
‘Yes,’ Amba answered.
‘This letter mentions Hazarilal, who is he?’
‘He’s Darbarilal’s son.’
‘Your cousin?’
‘No, he rescued me. He gave me a new life. He saved me from drowning in deep waters. He’s the one who blessed me with the good fortune that I’m enjoying now.’
Her husband felt as though he had remembered a long forgotten fact. ‘Now I understand. Really, he wasn’t a man but a God.’
Translated from the Hindi by M. Asaduddin
The Game of Chess1
It was the reign of Wajid Ali Shah. Lucknow was steeped in a state of indulgence. Everybody—young and old, rich and poor—was immersed in luxury. If there were soirees of music and dance in some places, there were opium parties in others. In every sphere of life, enjoyment and revelry ruled. In politics and poetry, arts and crafts, trade and industry—everywhere—indulgence was becoming pervasive. The courtiers were obsessed with drinking, poets with the descriptions of love and longing, craftsmen with making gold and silver embroidery, artisans with earning a livelihood from kohl, itr perfume, cosmetic paste and oils. In short, the entire realm seemed to be in the thrall of sensual pleasures. No one knew what was happening in the world. They had no idea about the new discoveries in the world of knowledge and wisdom and how the Western powers were establishing their dominance. People wagered on partridge fights. If somewhere the game of checkers was set up and people raised an uproar at every move, at some other place a terrible combat of chess was on with contending armies ranged on both sides. The nawab’s condition was even worse.
Every day new tricks and prescriptions for sensual pleasures were being devised. So much so that when beggars were given money, instead of buying food they bought intoxicating stuff like opium and tobacco. The youth from the nobility visited courtesans to train themselves in wit and repartee.
Chess was regarded as an elixir that sharpened the mind and augmented the analytical prowess of the players. Even now, there are people who put forward this argument most forcefully. Therefore, if Mirza Sajjad Ali and Mir Roshan Ali spent most of their time sharpening their minds then what objection could a discerning man possibly have, even if fools thought otherwise! Both of them had inherited ancestral estates and did not have to worry about their livelihood. After all, what else could they do? Having had their breakfast early in the morning both the gentlemen would set up a chess board, arrange the chessmen and start sharpening their minds. They would get so lost in the game that they wouldn’t realize when morning turned to noon and noon to evening. From inside the house attendants would come to say that the meal was ready. And they would respond, ‘Sure, we’re coming. Spread the mat out.’ But what were dishes of korma and pulao against the delicious game of chess! In fact, the cook was eventually forced to bring the food right there, and then both the friends manifested their skill by doing both activities simultaneously. Sometimes the food lay there, uneaten, as they played on, oblivious of its existence.
Mirza Sajjad Ali did not have any elderly people at his home, so the game was played in his drawing room. This, however, didn’t mean that the other people in Mirza’s household were happy with this habit of his. Definitely not. Not only the members of his family, but neighbours and even servants often made caustic comments. ‘What an inauspicious game! It ruins households. God forbid, when someone gets addicted to it, he becomes entirely useless to his family and friends. Totally worthless! It’s a fatal addiction.’ In fact, Mirza’s wife despised the game so much that she lay in wait for opportunities to reproach him. But she rarely found such opportunities. Even before she woke up the chess board was laid out and when Mirza finally entered the bedroom at night she was fast asleep. Sure enough, she would vent her anger on the servants, ‘What has mian asked for, paan? Tell him to come and take it. Does he have fetters on his feet? What? Did he say he had no time to eat food? Okay, then take the food and dump it on his head. They can eat if they want or feed the dogs. Who’d keep waiting here for him?’ But the fact was—she did not complain as much about her husband as she did about Mir Sahib. She had given him nicknames like ‘Mir, the spoiler’, ‘Mir, the wrecker’ and so on. To save his skin Mirzaji often passed
