One day, when Shankar was returning from his day’s work the Brahmin stopped him on the way and said, ‘Shankar, come tomorrow to settle the accounts of your loan and interest. You have owed me five and a half maund of wheat for ages, and you show no sign of paying up! What are your intentions?’
Shankar was surprised. ‘When did I borrow five and a half maund of wheat from you ? You forget I don’t owe anyone even a fistful of grains or a single paisa!’
‘It’s because of this nature of yours that you don’t have enough to eat.’ The Brahmin then reminded Shankar of the one and a quarter ser of wheat that he had lent him seven years ago. Shankar was stunned. Oh God, how many times have I given him alms; what work of mine did he ever do? Whenever he came to my house to consult the almanac or tell the auspicious hour for some event, he always took some ‘rewards’. What selfishness is this? One and a quarter ser of grains has now taken on this monstrous proportion—it will gobble me up! If he had given me an inkling I would’ve given him the appropriate measure of wheat as repayment. Was he silent all this while so he could make more out of me? He said, ‘Maharaj, it is true I haven’t given you grains of the exact measure saying that it was to pay off your debt, but several times I have given you alms to the measure of one ser or even two ser. Today you’re asking for five and a half maund! Where can I get that from?’
The Brahmin asserted, ‘Whatever is written in the ledger stands as it is, though the rewards may be hundred fold. Five and a half maund is written against your name in the ledger, you can send anyone to examine the accounts. You pay up and I’ll strike off your name; if you don’t, it will go on increasing.’
Shankar pleaded, ‘Why are you tormenting a poor man like me? I cannot manage two square meals a day, where can I get so much wheat?’
‘You can bring it from wherever you want. I’ll not leave even a fistful of grains. If you don’t pay now, you will have to pay in the hereafter.’
Shankar trembled in fear. If the statement was made to an educated person like us, he would have said, ‘It’s all right, I’ll pay in the hereafter. The measure there would not be greater than here. At least, why should I worry when there’s no proof of the debt?’ But Shankar was neither clever nor argumentative. A debt from a Brahmin . . . if the name remained in the ledger, it meant he would directly go to hell. The mere thought made his hair stand on end. He said, ‘Maharaj, I’ll pay your debt here, why are you bringing God into it? I am being pushed around in this birth, why should I sow a thorn for the next one? But this is no justice. You have made a mountain out of a molehill. Being a Brahmin you should not have done that. If you had asked for it earlier I would have paid up, and this huge burden would not have fallen on me. I will pay up for sure, but you will have to answer before God.’
‘You might be afraid of the hereafter, why should I be? I will have my brothers and friends there. The sages and seers are all Brahmin; God is also Brahmin, whatever the situation is, they will manage it. Now tell me, when are you paying up?’
‘I do not have any in my house. I can pay you only if I borrow from someone.’
‘That does not make me very happy. It has been seven years, now I cannot spare you even a day. If you cannot return the wheat, you have to sign a bond.’
‘I know I have to pay up. You can take the wheat or you can make me sign a bond. What price will you put on the wheat?’
‘The market rate is five sers; I’ll draw the bond at the rate of five and a quarter ser.’
‘If I have to pay, I’ll do it at the market rate. Why should I be blamed for leaving the quarter?’
Sixty rupees was calculated to be the price of the wheat. A bond was drawn out for sixty rupees at a three per cent interest. If not paid within a year the rate of interest would be charged at three and a half per cent. Over and above that, Shankar had to pay eight annas for the stamp paper and one rupee for drawing the document.
The people of the entire village spoke ill of the Brahmin, but not to his face. Everyone needed the moneylender, so no one wanted to rub him the wrong way.3
Shankar worked hard for one year. He had vowed to pay off the debt before the date was over. No cooking was done before afternoon. They used to live on gram, now they stopped that too. Rotis were made only for their son and that too at night. Shankar used to smoke tobacco worth one rupee earlier—it was his only addiction, which he could not do without. Now he had to sacrifice even that for the vow. He threw away the chillum, broke the hookah and smashed the tobacco bowl. He had already given up clothes to a great extent; now he only wore the barest minimum, to simply cover his nakedness. He spent the bone-chilling winter sitting near the fire. His firm resolve bore fruit beyond his expectation. At the end of the year he managed to collect sixty rupees. He had thought he would hand over the money to the Brahmin and say, ‘Maharaj,
