The Complete Short Stories

he had not hesitated to poison were alive, happy and prosperous today. He would not have been able to provide Lakhan with such a good education and teach him such a high morality. He could never have dreamt of elevating him to such a high position. He had understood that they would be ruined by his death. On the contrary, when he disappeared things turned to the better for them. How well-behaved, sweet-tongued, friendly, pure-hearted his son had become, how modest and understanding. Sitting in his company made him realize his own lowness. So much good luck for a wicked, ignorant, selfish person like him! How sad that his introspection had imprisoned him in a dark cave at the bottom of which he was lying even more filthy and detestable than the creatures of darkness. He had understood the world to be run by the forces of evil playing cat and mouse with human beings. What ignorance! Today, he who had burnt his own nest was among the luckiest of men. There could be no doubt that the world was ruled by a force full of mercy and blessings, otherwise how could he be worthy of so much good? In the morning he would see the Goddess with whom he had shared the best part of his life. His grandchildren would play in his lap, his relatives and friends would welcome him back and congratulate him. How he had mistrusted such a benevolent, merciful power!

With these thoughts Jeevan Das fell asleep. When he woke up he heard Lakhan Das’s familiar, sweet voice. He was startled. Lakhan Das was having the luggage unloaded. His phaeton was waiting outside the station. Both men got on to it. Jeevan Das’s heart was weighed down with joy. His face looked dejected instead of happy. He was silent as if ignorant of the world around and devoid of any feeling. It was strange that just when his heart was full to the brim he was experiencing a sinking feeling.

The phaeton started to move. Everything appeared new to Jeevan Das. The houses were not the same, neither were the bazaars and lanes or the people. Everything looked completely transformed. Suddenly, he saw a clean, beautiful bungalow which bore the inscription ‘Jeevan Das Pathshala’ in big letters on the gate.

Jeevan Das asked, ‘What is this?’

Lakhan Das said, ‘Mother has opened this school in your memory. It provides instruction free of charge, and some boys also receive stipends.’

Jeevan Das was even more depressed. A deep sigh escaped his mouth.

After a short while the phaeton stopped. Lakhan Das got down. Jeevan Das saw a magnificent building. Nothing was left of his sweet old brick house, apart from a neem tree as a last reminder. Several servants came running to unload the luggage. Two rosy-cheeked boys came shouting, ‘Babuji, Babuji,’ and clasped Lakhan Das’s legs. A commotion arose in the house. Neighbours came to inquire about his health. The extravagantly decorated reception room was opened. Jeevan Das felt like he was lost in a miracle.6

It was past midnight. Jeevan Das was unable to find sleep. He saw his past before him. The thorns he had sown over the past fifteen years were now pinching his heart. The caves he had dug were about to swallow him. In the course of a single day he had been utterly transformed. Disbelief had been replaced by a firm belief in a hidden hand, and this belief was not only intellectual, but also spiritual. The fear of this hidden power was confronting him like a black demon. He could not see any route of escape. So far this power had been harmless like a spark of fire falling down in a desert, but now this spark had fallen on a heap of straw which it could set alight at any moment.

As the night went by, this terror changed into remorse. He did not feel fit to face this embodiment of mercy which had always kept him sheltered in its kindness and let him see this blessed day. His black face was a stain on its mercy. In his disgrace he was not even worthy to fall at its feet.

Should he demean himself in the eyes of this pure being? Would his evil deeds not fall back on his family? Would the storms brought about by him not devastate this flourishing garden?

Oh, to save the honour and esteem of this family he had become an executioner. Should he now bring disgrace to this very family, should he blacken their bright achievements with the blackness of his deeds? Should his life bring more suffering and tragedy than his death could ever have done? His hands were stained with blood. ‘Oh God, let this blood not spill over! My heart is rotting because of my sinful crimes. Let this family not be contaminated by them!’

These ideas intensified Jeevan Das’s shame, regret and fear to such an extent that he became terrified. As a seed grows with extraordinary speed in fallow land, when faith awakens in a heart devoid of any belief it develops amazing candour and direction. Action becomes more forceful than knowledge. Its distinguishing feature is an intrepid passion. Jeevan Das felt an all-encompassing existence, a hidden hand, a pervading gaze all around him, and this feeling was growing stronger with every moment. The events of his unfortunate life seemed to be leaping like flames towards the house as if they were about to devour it.

Light started to appear from the east. Jeevan Das left the house. He had decided to extinguish his ill-fated existence. He had made up his mind to save his family from the fire of his sins. Wiping out his existence, he would erase his shame.

As the sun came up behind the horizon, Jeevan Das vanished into the waters of the Gomti.

Translated from the Urdu by Christina Oesterheld

An Audacious Act1

In the Naubasta mohalla of Lucknow there lived a lawyer called Munshi Maikoolal. He was an extremely