Saying so, both withdrew their hands and left. Munshiji followed this by holding Bechan’s hand as he was stepping off the veranda and urged, ‘Bechan, will you too betray me?’
Bechan replied, ‘I have taken a serious vow. Now that I have declared it to be like cow’s blood, I can’t even look that way. However fallen I might be, won’t I respect cow’s blood? You too should quit now. Devote yourself to God for some days. You’ve been drinking for far too long.’
Saying so, he too bowed and left. Now only Rambali was left. Munshiji addressed him sorrowfully, ‘Did you observe their betrayal, Rambali? I didn’t know these people would be so weak. Let it only be us for today. Two true friends are better than a dozen weak-willed ones. Come, sit.’
Rambali responded, ‘I’m present and available, but I too have vowed that I won’t spend my own money drinking.’
‘Till I can support it, drink as much as you want. What’s the worry?’
‘But what if you’re not there? Where will I find such a gentleman?’
‘We’ll see to it then. It’s not as if I am dying today.’
‘You can’t repose such faith in life. You’ll definitely pass away before me. Then who’ll offer me liquor? Then I won’t even be able to quit. So it’s better that I worry about it from now on.’
‘Don’t dishearten me with such words. Come, sit, take just one glass.’
‘Mukhtar Sahib, please don’t press so much. Now that even addicts like Eedu and Jhinku who have sold off their wives’ jewellery to fund their drinking and are complete idiots have taken the oath, am I so shameless as to remain a slave to liquor? Swamiji rescued me from complete disaster. I can’t ignore his pronouncements.’
Saying so, Rambali also took his leave.6
Munshiji put the cup to his lips, but his desire for liquor abated even before he poured his second drink. It was the first time in his life that he had to sit by himself and drink alcohol as if it was a medicine. First he expressed frustration at his house inmates, inwardly saying, ‘I must have wasted hundreds of rupees on these betrayers, but all of them just deserted me over such a minor issue. Now I lie here alone, like a ghost. There is nobody to converse or joke with. Liquor is a thing enjoyed in company. When the pleasure of company is no longer there, then what good can there be in drinking and lying on the bed here?
‘How I was insulted today! When I entered the lane, hundreds of men glared at me with fiery eyes. If they had their way, they would have torn me to pieces when I returned with the liquor. Without the inspector, it would have been difficult to return home. Why this insult and public humiliation? Just so I can enjoy this bitter taste for a moment and get heartburn? There is nobody with whom I can joke and laugh.
‘Only today have I experienced how dispensable a thing people think alcohol to be. Otherwise those habitual drunkards for years would not have betrayed me only because of the mere gesture of a sadhu. The truth is, deep within their hearts, everybody considers it detestable. When my milkmen, buggy pullers and palanquin bearers can quit, am I worse than them? What greatness is achieved if I get a bit tipsy in the head after withstanding so many insults, having fallen in people’s eyes, becoming notorious in the entire city, and becoming stubborn? Is it good to let one’s soul suffer such a downfall just to satisfy an evil passion? All four of them must be condemning me at this very moment, must be calling me a scoundrel, and must be thinking of me as fallen. I have fallen lower in the eyes of those fallen ones. It is difficult to bear this condition. I will kill this passion today. I will put an end to this humiliation.’
Within a moment, a crash was heard. Algu woke up with a start and saw Munshiji standing in the veranda and the bottle lying broken on the floor!
Translated from the Hindi by Vikas Jain
The Red Ribbon1
Intelligence is not the birth right of any class and does not follow the rules of inheritance. Mister Hari Bilas was the embodiment of this principle. He was a Kurmi by caste. The hereditary family occupation was agriculture, but right from his childhood his parents recognized his thirst for knowledge and took appropriate measures to encourage it. They did not make him plough the fields. While they ate the coarsest food, wore the coarsest clothes and did all the hard work, there was no dearth of fine things for Hari Bilas. The father couldn’t hide his joy when he saw his son read the Ramayana.
The father’s head rose with pride when the villagers came to Hari Bilas to have their summons, letters or revenue receipts read out to them. The joy of passing and the sorrow of failing moved the father more than the son. All this further increased Hari Bilas’s craving for knowledge and made him pass all the initial stages until he reached matriculation. Old Ram Bilas had thought that now would be the time to reap the harvest. His enthusiasm cooled down when he learned that this was not the end but just the beginning of education. Hari Bilas’s zeal, however, was not diminished by heat or cold. He entered college with the firm determination that often distinguishes poor but intelligent students. Although he tried to cover his expenses by tutoring the son of a landlord he, from time to time, needed certain sums of money. These had to be procured by Ram Bilas. The poor soul was growing weaker. Farming is another word for hard labour. Sometimes he could not irrigate his land, sometimes he was not able to plough the fields in time, hence the harvest was spoilt. But he never failed to fulfil
