Yesterday, this husband of mine revealed his true self. That is why I am so distressed. There is so much hypocrisy and pretence in this world! We are all such cowardly oppressors. After hearing his advice, I had begun to see him as a godlike soul. I took pride in the fact that I had the good fortune of serving such a noble person. Today, I realized that it is only those who know how to straddle two boats at the same time are thought of as well-wishers of the community.
Yesterday was my sister-in-law’s send-off to her husband’s house, the rukhsati. Many ladies from our community were invited. They were all wearing beautiful clothes and jewels and were sitting on the carpet. I was welcoming them all. Suddenly, my eyes fell on the women who were sitting on the floor where the ladies’ shoes were kept. These poor women had also come to witness the rukhsati. I felt it was not right for them to sit there. So I brought them in and made them sit on the carpet. The ladies began to whisper among themselves, and, in a little while, one by one, they made some excuse and left. Somebody reported this to my husband. He came in a rage and reprimanded me in full public view.
When I woke up this morning, I saw a strange sight. The leaves from which the guests had eaten last night, the clay cups and leaf plates used by the guests were thrown on the ground outside. Many people were bent over them, licking the leftovers. Yes, they were human beings animated by the same universal soul, the Parmatama. Many dogs had also gathered there but these vagabonds beat them and chased them away. Their condition was worse than that of the dogs. My hair stood on end when I saw this spectacle. Tears began to flow from my eyes. God! These are our own brothers and sisters, part of the same universal soul. And their condition was so pitiable! I immediately sent the maid, called all those people inside, and gave them the sweets that were stacked up for the guests. The maid was shivering—if the master came to know, she would be in real trouble. But when I comforted her, she felt a little reassured.
The poor souls were eating the sweets when my husband came in, enraged. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’ he asked harshly. ‘You are always up to some mischief or the other. I just can’t understand what has got into you. These sweets were prepared for guests, not for scavengers. Now what can I serve to the guests? Have you taken a determined vow to destroy my reputation?’
I replied calmly, ‘You are getting angry for no reason. I will get you the sweets I’ve just given away. I could not stand and see one person eating sweets and another licking plates and leaves. The scavengers, too, are human beings. They have the same soul. Don’t you think it unfair?’
My husband replied, ‘Just don’t go on harping on the same point like a silly woman. All souls are the same indeed! If all human beings are the same then who stopped God from keeping everyone in the same condition? Why should he allow differences between high and low? What’s the point of this meaningless argument?’ I was dumbstruck and could not utter a word! At that moment, all regard and devotion for my husband simply vanished from my heart. How selfish human beings could be! They make a mockery even of God! What shameful hypocrisy! We sacrifice the truth for national good and self-interest. Under such circumstances, is it strange that our efforts do not bear the desired fruit?
Translated from the Urdu by M. Asaduddin
The Old Aunt1
Old age, in many ways, is the return of childhood. The old aunt had lost all her senses except that of taste. She had no other means to draw attention to herself except by crying. All her limbs—eyes, hands and legs—had given way. She would be lying there uncared for and, if the members of the family did things contrary to her wishes, did not give her food on time or in sufficient quantity, or a share of the food brought from the market, she would begin to howl. What’s more, she cried and sobbed at the top of her voice, not in a subdued tone.
It had been a long time since her husband had died. Her son, too, had died when he was an adolescent. And now, there was no one except the nephew with whom she lived. She had transferred her entire property to his name. He had made tall promises at the time, but they turned out to be false. The return from her property was not less than two hundred rupees a year, but she was hardly given enough food to fill her belly. It was not clear whether her nephew, Pandit Buddhiram, was to blame for this, or his wife. Buddhiram was a decent gentleman, but only as long as he did not have to part with his money. Rupa was
