One evening, I was reading a letter sitting near the entrance of my house. I suddenly saw the bookbinder coming towards me. A farmer would not be as scared to see a peon bringing a summons and a child would not be as scared to see a doctor as I was scared to see Rafaqat. I got up quickly and wanted to go inside the house and close the door, but the bookbinder was already there in front of me. It was not possible to escape. I sat on the chair, frowning, knowing very well why he had come. In fact, it is very easy to guess from his facial expression the intention of a person wanting to borrow money from you. He shows an unusual politeness and shyness which, once seen, can never be forgotten.
Without beating around the bush, the bookbinder told me the purpose of his visit.
I said rudely, ‘I don’t have money.’
The bookbinder bid me goodbye and left immediately. He looked so distressed and helpless that I felt sorry for him. The way he left without saying anything was so meaningful. It exhibited a deep sense of shame and remorse. He did not say a word but his face said a lot of things: ‘I knew you would give this reply. I did not have any doubt about it. Despite that, I came here. I don’t know why. Perhaps your kindness, your affection brought me here. Now I am going. I have no moral right to share my pain with you.’
I called the bookbinder, ‘Come here. What’s wrong? Why do you want to borrow money?’
The bookbinder saw a ray of hope. He said, ‘What can I say? We have starved for the last two days.’
I advised him very politely, ‘How long can you run your house by borrowing money like this? You are a sensible person. You know that everybody is worried about themselves. Nobody has extra money to spare. And even if somebody has, why should he get into trouble by lending money to someone. Why don’t you try to improve your condition?’
The bookbinder said nonchalantly, ‘It’s all due to destiny. What else can I say? Things which I buy for the whole month last only a day. I am helpless before my wife’s gluttony. If she doesn’t get milk for one day, she will make a scene. If I don’t bring her sweets from the market, she will make my life miserable. If I don’t get meat for her, she will eat my flesh. I come from a respectable family. I can’t afford to have a fight with my wife over matters related to food. I immediately get her whatever she wants. I pray to God for my death. I don’t see any other way out. I have tried everything but without any success.’
I took out five rupees from my box and, handing it over to him, said, ‘This is a reward for your self-respect. I did not know that you were so large-hearted and courageous.’
A person who endures family conflicts is in no way less brave than a soldier who fights on battlefields.
Translated from the Hindi by Faizullah Khan
Atmaram1
In Vedon village, the goldsmith Mahadev was a well-known man. From morning till evening he could be heard tapping away at his smithy in his veranda. People had grown so used to hearing this sound that if, for some reason, it stopped, it would seem as if something had gone missing. It was his routine every morning to carry his parrot Atmaram in its cage to the pond as he sang a bhajan. To a stranger, the sight of his emaciated body, toothless mouth and bent back in the misty light of the morn could easily be mistaken for that of a ghost! However, the moment people heard the chant of ‘Sat gurudutt Shivdutt daata’1, it had the effect of a cock’s crow and they immediately understood that it was morning.
Mahadev did not have a happy family life. He had three sons, three daughters-in-law and dozens of grandchildren, but there was no one to lighten his burden. The sons believed in making merry while the old man lived; after him they would have to submit to the yoke of work. Poor Mahadev would sometimes even go without food. At mealtimes there would be such a hue and cry for one’s share of food that he would leave without eating anything and go off to sleep after having dragged away at his coconut-shell hookah. His professional life was even more strife-ridden. Even though he was skilful at his work, and his processes were rigorous and his chemical procedures painstaking, he had to put up with the harsh words of suspicious and impatient customers. However, Mahadev would hear them out with an unruffled profundity, his head bent at work. As soon as the quarrel subsided, he would turn his head towards the parrot and say ‘Sat gurudutt Shivdutt daata’. The chanting of this mantra would fill him with utter peace.2
Once, by chance, a boy opened the door of the cage and the parrot flew out. When Mahadev raised his head to look at the cage, the parrot had disappeared!
