The Complete Short Stories

generous, compassionate and gentlemanly person. So adept was he in his profession that there was rarely a lawsuit in which he did not represent at least one party. He was also devoted to ascetics and saints. In their holy company, he had acquired some knowledge of philosophy and some practice of hemp and marijuana. As for alcohol, it was his family tradition. His mind would be enlightened when he was drunk and in this condition he wrote several legal drafts. Hemp and marijuana would so influence his wisdom that after taking puffs of these, he would become renunciatory and meditative. The residents of the mohalla held him in great awe. But this awe was not a consequence of his legal expertise; instead it resulted from his generous nature. The buggy pullers, milkmen and palanquin bearers of the mohalla were obedient to him and would serve him even if they had to abandon hundreds of other chores. His alcohol-induced generosity had enchanted everyone. Every day, just as he returned from court, he would drop two rupees before Algu, his palanquin bearer. Algu knew the meaning of this act and there was no need to explicitly state anything. By evening, a bottle of liquor and some hemp and marijuana would be placed before Munshiji. That was it. The party would begin. Friends, too, would then show up. Munshiji’s clients would sit in one row and house inmates would file in another. The conversation would veer towards renunciation and true knowledge. Intermittently he would also discuss court cases with his clients. The assembly would end as late as ten in the night.

Munshiji never bothered about anything other than discussing his profession and philosophy. He was utterly unconcerned about any movement, meeting or social reform in the country. On this count, he was really renounced. Be it the partition of Bengal, the Moderate–Extremist split in the Congress, the beginning of political reforms, the desire for Swaraj or the reverberating cries for self-defence, Munshiji’s peace of mind remained undisturbed and unaffected. Everything except the court and alcohol was maya. He remained indifferent to everything else.2

The lamps had been lit, Munshiji’s assembly had gathered and the devotees, too, had deposited themselves before him. But the liquor Goddess was yet to appear! Algu had not yet returned from the market. Everybody looked around with expectation beaming forth from their eyes. One man stood waiting in the veranda. Some two or three were even posted to scan the street, but Algu was not to be seen. For the first time in his life, Munshiji had to wait this long. This wait induced anxiety, and it manifested itself in the form of deep meditation. He neither spoke nor looked towards anybody. All his faculties were now focused on the anticipated object.

All of a sudden he was informed that Algu was on the way. Munshiji awoke from his meditation, and the inmates lit up and with hopeful eyes they sat up alert in their seats. Pleasure, of course, is enhanced when promising anticipation is accompanied by delay.

Within a moment, Algu appeared before Munshiji. He did not scold Algu, for he knew that he had committed this crime for the first time and there must have been a reason. Munshiji looked at Algu’s hand with sunken yet yearning eyes. His hands were not carrying a bottle. Munshiji was astonished and could not believe what he saw. He once again surveyed Algu’s hands but the bottle was just not there. Even though this was an unnatural occurrence, Munshiji did not get angry but asked politely, ‘Where’s the bottle?’

Algu replied, ‘I couldn’t get it today.’

‘Why not?’

‘The Swarajis have blocked both the lanes leading to the vendor and are not allowing anyone to go that way.’

This enraged Munshiji. He was not angry with Algu, but with the Swarajis. He thought, What right do they have to ban my liquor?

‘Didn’t you mention my name?’ He posed a logical question to Algu.

Algu replied, ‘Many times, but there nobody was listening to anybody. Everybody was going back, so I too came back.’

‘Got the weed?’

‘There too it was the same story.’

‘Are you my servant or the Swarajis’?’

‘I am not your servant to have my face blackened.’

‘So are the ruffians blackening people’s faces too?’

‘I didn’t see, but everybody was saying so.’

‘Well, I’ll go myself. Let me see who is audacious enough to stop me. I will have each one of them put in prison. The government’s rule is there, not anarchy. Wasn’t there a constable around?’

‘The inspector himself told everybody that whoever wished could take and consume liquor, but they still went back. Nobody was listening to him.’

‘The inspector is my friend. Eedu, are you coming with me? Rambali, Bechan, Jhinku—everybody come with me. Let me see who can stop me. Tomorrow itself, I’ll teach everybody a lesson.’3

There was a large crowd at the mouth of the lane where the liquor vendor was located when Munshiji reached with his four henchmen. Two benign figures were standing in the midst of the crowd. One of them was Maulana Jamin, a well-known scholar of Islamic jurisprudence, and the other was Swami Ghananand, the founder of the volunteers’ association and a great well-wisher of the public. The inspector was standing right in front of him with many constables. Just as he spotted Munshiji and his men, he said gleefully, ‘Please come, Mukhtar Sahib. Did you have to trouble yourself today? Aren’t these four men your fellow travellers?’

Munshiji replied, ‘Yes, yes, I sent an errand boy earlier, but he returned without success. I heard it’s mayhem out here. The Swarajis aren’t letting anybody go in?’

‘No, sir, who can dare interfere in anybody’s work here? You go ahead comfortably. Nobody can utter a word. After all, why am I here?’

Munshiji proudly looked at his men and had just made for the lane when Maulana Jamin addressed Eedu with great humility, ‘Friend, it’s time for your prayers, how come you’re here? Is it with this religiosity that you will solve the Khilafat issue?’

Eedu felt as