Harnamdas listened to everything very carefully and looked closely at Dinanath. Maybe he was searching for the truth. He added in a suspicious tone, ‘Dinanath, although you have never lied to me, it is hard for me to believe this. I will only believe this once I see everything with my own eyes.’
Disappointed, Dinanath left. He was hoping that Harnamdas would be elated to hear about the progress and compliment him on his hard work. He didn’t know that the roots of suspicion are so deeply entrenched in some hearts that even evidence and proof are not enough to make an impact. Even when they see the changes with their own eyes, they feel that it might be some sort of magic.
Harnamdas remained in deep thought even after Dinanath left, and then, all of a sudden, called out for the Kahar to take out his buggy. He went and sat in it with the help of his lathi and ordered the Kahar to take him to his mill.
It was afternoon. Generally, at this time the workers from the mill are away for their meals. But work was going on at Haridas’s mill. The buggy entered the compound. There were flower beds on both sides and the gardener was watering the plants. There was no place for the buggy to enter because of the number of carts and motorcars parked there. Wherever one looked, there was cleanliness and greenery.
Haridas was dictating a letter to one of his employees, when the old lala entered the mill with the help of his lathi. Haridas got up immediately. Holding his hand, ‘Why didn’t you send a message that you wanted to come. I could have had the palanquin sent for you. You must have had a lot of trouble.’ Saying this, he moved an easy chair close to him. The mill workers came running and stood around him with great respect. Harnamdas sat in the chair, looking at the pile of gunny sacks touching the roof and said, ‘Looks like Dinanath was speaking the truth. There are many new faces here. How much work is done every day?’
‘These days there is some extra work, so about five hundred maund of flour is prepared every day. But the average would remain at two hundred and fifty maund. We often work at night as we have to pay off the new machine.’
‘Did you have to take out a loan?’
‘Not a penny. Only half the money for the machine has to be repaid.’
Satisfaction spread across Harnamdas’s face. Faith took the place of suspicion. Lovingly, he looked at his son and said in a tender voice, ‘Son, I have been very harsh with you. Forgive me. I was very proud of the fact that I recognized people but I was often cheated. I should have moved away from this work a long time ago. I have caused you enough harm. This illness turned out to be a blessed one which gave you an opportunity to prove yourself and show your worth. I wish I had had this attack five years ago. May God always keep you happy and grant you progress. This is the blessing of your old father.’
Translated from the Hindi by Saba Mahmood Bashir
Life Force1
There was an orphan girl in my village named Gujrati. She didn’t even remember her parents’ faces. She played with the village boys. Some would beat her; she would cry and then resume playing. If someone felt sorry for her and offered her something she ran to get it. Wherever she felt sleepy, she slept, wherever she found food, she ate. She wore whatever dirty, old and tattered clothes were available. If a person felt pity and lifted her on to his lap, her heart overflowed with happiness. But she wasn’t leaner and gloomier than the other children her age. On seeing her healthy body other mothers felt jealous. She could melt people’s hearts. Upon seeing her, people lifted her on to their laps for no reason.
When she grew up she started working as a wage earner in the fields. She balanced the basket on her head and sang and irrigated the fields while chatting with maids of her age. She was the girl of the village, dearest to the villagers. She would go shopping for someone, babysit somebody’s child and pound rice at someone else’s home. Some gave her used clothes, maybe an old tattered sari, and she would be happy and content with that. She never shed tears at her situation. If ever she heard a song or drumbeat she would be the first one to reach there. Her heart was hungry for happiness. Life wasn’t lonely or complicated for her. Life was a gift for her and she enjoyed it. She attained womanhood. Her eyes sparkled. She was brimming with youthfulness. The village dwellers started thinking about her marriage. How can a grown girl remain unmarried in the village? Their morals did not allow this. They consulted among themselves over the issue. Some gave grains, some gave money, and the search for a groom commenced.2
Gujrati’s condition at her in-laws’ house was worse than her condition in the village. Her husband, Ram Ratan, was a water distributor at the nearby railway station. He was rude and short-tempered by nature. Gujrati was self-sufficient and earned her own bread by grinding wheat at the station. But this did not make Ram Ratan any less dominant or strict with her. He appeared to be a very lively and content man from the outside. But the moment he stepped
