A Thousand Yearnings Read online

  But I’ve never known any of them to pay back what they’ve borrowed. You lose once, and you learn your lesson—or lose twice, and learn your lesson; but my good man loses a thousand times and still never learns. When I tell him, ‘You lent him the money. Why don’t you ask him for it back? Has he gone off and died somewhere?’ he just shrugs his shoulders. He can’t bear to refuse anything to a friend. ‘All right,’ I tell him, ‘don’t then. I’m not telling you to be unsympathetic. But you can put them off a bit, can’t you? Can’t you make some excuse?’ But he can’t refuse anyone. A friend asks him for something and he feels it as a burden, and, poor fellow, he can’t refuse. If he did people would think he was half-starved; and he wants the world to think him rich even if he has to pawn my jewellery to give that impression. There are times when we’ve been almost penniless, but this good man can’t rest until he’s as prodigal with his money to others as he is mean to us. Every day someone or other comes to pester us—a visitor from whom there’s no escape. God knows where all these irresponsible friends of his come from. They come from all over the place. Our house is not so much a home as a refuge for the handicapped. It’s only a small house; we can hardly muster four string-beds, and we haven’t a lot of bedding. But he’s always ready to invite people to stay. He’ll be sharing a room with the guest, so he’ll need a bed and bedding. Otherwise we can’t keep up appearances. And it’s me and the children who have to suffer for it and get through the night huddled together on the floor. In the summer it’s not too bad, but in the winter it’s torture. And in the summer too they occupy the open roof; the children and I are like birds trapped in a cage. He hasn’t even got the sense to see that when this is how things are at home he shouldn’t invite people to stay who’ve hardly got a rag to their name. By the grace of God, that’s the kind of people all his friends are. There’s not one of them who could even give him a penny if ever he should need help. He’s had one or two bitter experiences—extremely bitter. But it’s as if he’s sworn never to open his eyes. It’s penniless people like this that he takes to. He makes friends of people you’re ashamed to speak of, people you wouldn’t even open the door to. There are plenty of important, well-to-do people in the town, but he has no contact with any of them. He never goes to pay a call on them. These rich people are arrogant; they fancy themselves, and want you to flatter them. How can he go to them? No, he’ll make friends with the sort of people who haven’t even got anything to eat in the house.

  Once we had a servant leave us and for some days we couldn’t find another one. I was looking for a sensible, capable man, but he was anxious to get one as quickly as possible. The running of the house went on as usual, but to him it seemed that everything was being held up. One day he got hold of some yokel—God knows where from—and brought him along. You could tell simply by looking at him that he’d just come down from the trees, but he praised him to the skies. He’s obedient; he’s utterly honest; he’s a real worker; he knows how to go about things; he’s extremely well-mannered. Well, I took him on. I don’t know why time after time I let him persuade me: it surprises even me. This man was a man only in the sense that he was something in human form. No sign of anything else human about him. He had no idea how to go about anything. He wasn’t dishonest, but he was an idiot of the first order. If he’d been dishonest I’d at least have had the consolation of knowing that he was getting something out of it. But the wretched man was a prey to all the shopkeepers’ tricks. He couldn’t even count up to ten. I’d give him a rupee in the morning and send him off to the shops, and if you gave him till evening to work out how much he’d spent and how much change he should have he couldn’t tell you. I’d just have to swallow my anger. My blood would begin to boil and I’d feel like tearing his ears off, the pig; but I never saw his lordship saying anything to him. After he’d bathed he’d be folding his loincloth, while the servant just sat there looking at him. It made my blood boil, but he wouldn’t even notice it, and if the servant did offer to fold the loincloth, he wouldn’t let him anywhere near it. He would present his faults as if they were virtues, and if he couldn’t manage to do that, he’d conceal them. The wretched man didn’t even know how to use a broom properly. The men’s sitting room is the only decent room in the house. When he swept it, he’d put everything back in the wrong place. You’d think the room had been hit by an earthquake, and there’d be so much dust in the air that you could hardly breathe. But he’d sit there happily in the room as though nothing untoward was happening. One day I gave the man a good talking to. I told him, ‘From tomorrow onwards if you don’t sweep the room properly I’ll dismiss you on the spot.’ When I got up next morning I saw that the room had already been swept—everything in its proper place and not a trace of dust anywhere. My husband laughed and said,‘What are you staring at? Ghora got up very early to sweep the room. I explained to him how to do it. You explain nothing, and then you start scolding him.’ So, you see? That too was my fault. Anyway I thought,‘Well that’s one thing the useless man has learnt to do properly.’ From that day forward I found every day that the room was clean and Ghora began to gain some respect in my eyes. Then for some reason I got up earlier than usual one day and as I went into the room what did I see? Ghora standing in the doorway and his majesty himself carefully sweeping the floor. I couldn’t control myself. I snatched the broom from his hand, clouted Ghora on the head with it and told him to get out. My husband said,‘All right, but pay him what we owe him.’That’s a good one! He doesn’t do his work properly; he’s insolent—and on top of all that I’m to pay him! I didn’t pay him a penny. I’d given him a shirt to wear, and he took it with him when he went.

  One day the sweeper asked me to give him our cast-off clothing. In these times of unemployment who has any clothes to spare? Maybe the rich do, but we don’t even have all the clothes we need. You could pack up his majesty’s complete wardrobe in a parcel and send it through the post. And that winter we hadn’t been able to get new clothes made. I turned him down flat. It was extremely cold. I could feel that myself; and I knew very well what the poor must be suffering. But what can you or I do except feel sorry for them? When the rich and powerful have clothes enough to fill a goods wagon then of course the poor have to suffer the tortures of nakedness. Anyway, I refused. And what did he do? He took off his coat and gave it to him. I was furious. It was the only coat he had. He didn’t bother to think what he was going to wear. The sweeper salaamed him, called down God’s blessings upon him, and was off. He put up with the cold for some days. Before that he used to go for a walk every morning, but now he gave up doing that. But it’s a strange temperament God has given him. He’s not ashamed to go about in rags. If people laugh at him, let them. He doesn’t care. I could die of shame, but he doesn’t even notice. In the end I couldn’t bear it any longer and I got a coat made for him. It was the last thing I wanted to do. I felt like making him put up with the cold until he’d had a bellyfull, but I was afraid he might fall ill; and then we’d be in even worse trouble. After all, he’s the breadwinner.

  In all these years he’s never of his own accord bought me a present. I grant you, when I’ve asked for something he’s never once objected to going and buying it for me—provided that I give him the money for it. He’s never felt inspired to pay for it himself. It’s true that he never buys anything for himself either, poor fellow; he’s quite content with what I get. But after all a man does sometimes fancy something. I see what other men do. They’re always bringing something for their wives—jewellery, clothes, makeup.... But with us that practice is forbidden. I don’t think he’s even once in his life bought sweets, or toys, or a trumpet or anything like that for the children. It’s as if he’d sworn not to. So I say he’s mean, dried up—a man who has no enthusiasm for anything. And his generosity to others I put down to the fact that he’s a simpleton; he’s greedy for approval, and likes to show off. He’s so weak and modest that he doesn’t mix with any of the people who hold any position in the office wh
ere he works. It’s against his rules to pay his respects to them, let alone give them presents. He doesn’t even call on them at their homes. And it’s he who reaps the consequences. Who else? Other people are given paid leave. His leave is unpaid. Other people get promoted. He is simply ignored. If he’s even five minutes late for work he’s asked for an explanation. The poor man works himself to death, and yet if anything difficult or complicated comes up it’s him who’s given the job of sorting it out, and he never objects. People in his office make fun of him and call him ‘the drudge’. And no matter how difficult the task he’s coped with, it’s written in his fate that he’ll get the same dry grass at the end of it. I don’t call that modesty; it’s a simple ignorance of the ways of the world. And why should anyone be pleased with him? It’s tolerance and consideration that gets you by in this world. If you hold yourself aloof from people, then of course they’ll hold themselves aloof from you. And once they take a dislike to you then of course that shows itself in office relationships. Subordinates who take care to keep their superiors happy, who make sure that their superiors get some personal advantage from them, and whom their superiors can depend upon are sure to win their superiors’regard. Why should they feel any sympathy for a man who wants nothing from them? After all they too are only human. How is their desire for respect and distinction to be satisfied if their subordinates are so independent? Everywhere he’s worked, he’s been dismissed. He’s never lasted in any office for more than a year or two. He’s either quarrelled with his superiors or gone and complained that they’ve given him too much work to do.

  He claims that he looks after his relatives. He has several brothers and nephews. They never so much as ask after him, but he is always thinking of their needs. One of his brothers is a tahsildar* now, and it is he who looks after all the family property. He lives in style. He’s bought a car and has several servants, but it never even occurs to him to write to us. Once we were in desperate need of money. I said to him, ‘Why don’t you ask your munificent brother?’ He said, ‘Why should I bother him? He too has got to make ends meet, and he won’t have much left over.’ It was only because I kept pressing him that he wrote. I don’t know what he said in the letter, but there was no money coming from that source, and we got none. After some days I asked him whether his illustrious brother had deigned to answer his letter. He was annoyed and said, ‘It’s still only a week since he’ll have got it. How can you expect a reply yet?’Another week went by,and then what? He never gave me the chance to say any more about it. He looked too happy for words. He’d go out and come back in great form, always with something amusing to tell me. He was constantly flattering me, and praising my family. I knew very well what he was up to. Saying all these things to please me so that I wouldn’t have the chance to ask about his munificent brother. Expounding national, financial, moral and cultural questions, and in such detail, and with such a commentary that it would have astonished even a professor. And all this for no other reason than that he didn’t want to give me a chance to ask about the matter. But that didn’t stop me. When another two full weeks had passed and the date to send money to the insurance company was approaching as inexorably as death, I asked him,‘What’s happened? Has your esteemed brother deigned to open his blessed lips? We’ve still heard nothing from him. After all, we too have a share in the family property, don’t we? Or are you the son of one of the family’s maidservants? It was earning a profit of five hundred rupees a year ten years ago. Now it must be earning at least a thousand. But we’ve never even got a bad penny of it. At a rough estimate we should have had two thousand. If not two thousand, one thousand; and if not one thousand, five hundred, or two hundred and fifty, or if nothing else at any rate the amount of the insurance premium. A tahsildar earns four times the amount we do. And he takes bribes. So why doesn’t he pay us what he owes us?’He began humming and hawing.‘The poor man is having his house repaired. He has all the expense of entertaining his relations and friends.’ Wonderful! As though the property’s there for the sole purpose of earning the money for these things! And the good man is no good at making up excuses. If he’d asked me I could have provided him with a thousand. I’d have said that his house, and everything in it had been completely destroyed by fire; or that he’d been burgled, and the burglar had taken everything; or that he’d bought grain for 10,000 rupees, but had had to sell at a loss; or he’d been involved in a lawsuit, and it had bankrupted him. But the best excuses he can think up are really lame ones. That’s the best his imagination can do for him—and he calls himself a writer and a poet. I bemoaned my fate and left it at that. I borrowed money from a neighbour’s wife and that’s how we got by. And even then he sings the praises of his brothers and his nephews. It makes me furious. God save us from brothers like his! They’re as bad as Joseph’s brothers.

  By the grace of God we have two sons and two daughters. God’s grace, or God’s anger? They’ve all got too mischievous for words. But this good man will never so much as look disapprovingly at any of them. Eight o’clock at night and our eldest son is out somewhere and hasn’t come back home. I’m worried. He’s sitting there calmly reading the paper. I get cross, snatch the paper from his hand and say ‘Why don’t you go and look for him? See where he’s got to, the brat? Don’t you feel anxious? You don’t deserve to have children. This time when he comes home give him a real dressing down.’ Then he too gets angry.‘Isn’t he back yet? He’s really gone to the bad. This time I’ll pull his ears off! I’ll flay him!’ He goes off in a real rage to look for him. But it so happens that he’s only just gone out when the boy comes home. I ask him,‘Where have you been? Your father, poor man, has gone out to look for you. Just you see what he does to you when he gets back! You’ll never do it again. He was gnashing his teeth. He’ll be back any minute now. He’s got his stick with him. You’ve got so unruly that you take no notice of anything we tell you. Well, today you’ll learn to take notice. You’ll learn what’s good for you.’ The boy is frightened. He lights the lamp and sits down to study.

  It’s almost two hours later when his father comes back, worried and distressed and not knowing what to do. The moment he gets in he says,‘Is he back?’ I want to make him angry. I say,‘Yes he’s back. You go and ask him where he’s been. I’ve stopped asking him. He won’t say anything.’

  He thunders, ‘Munna, come here!’

  The boy goes out into the courtyard trembling in fear and stands there. The two girls go off and hide themselves inside the house, wondering what terrible thing is going to happen next. The little boy is peeping out of the window like a mouse out of its hole. Their father is beside himself with rage, and his stick is in his hand. Even I, when I see his angry face, begin to regret having complained about the boy. He goes up to the boy—and then, instead of hitting him with his stick, he lays his hand gently on his shoulder and, pretending to be angry, says,‘Where did you get to, sir? You’re forbidden to do things, and you take no notice. If ever you come home so late again, watch out! Boys who behave themselves come home in the evening, and don’t go roaming about all over the place.’

  I’m thinking,‘That’s the preamble. Now he’ll start on what he has to say. Not a bad preamble.’ But it’s both the preamble and the conclusion. He’s calmed down. The boy goes off to his room and is probably jumping for joy there.

  I raise my voice in protest. ‘Anyone would think you’re afraid of him. You might at least have given him a clout or two. This way you’ll make him worse. Today he came in at eight. Tomorrow it’ll be nine. What do you think he’s thinking now?’

  He says,‘Didn’t you hear how I scolded him? He’ll have been scared to death. You’ll see, he won’t come home late again.’‘Scold him? You didn’t scold him. You dried his tears for him.’ He’s got hold of a new idea, that punishment is bad for a boy. He thinks boys should be free, and not subject to any kind of restriction or pressure. He thinks that restrictions hinder their development. That’s why they get out of control. They w
on’t sit still for a minute to open a book. Sometimes he’s playing tip-cat, sometimes it’s marbles, and sometimes it’s kites. And his honour joins in. He’s past forty now, but he’s still a boy at heart. In my father’s presence none of my brothers would have dared to fly kites or play tip-cat. He’d have had their blood. Every morning he’d sit down and start teaching them, and as soon as they were back from school he’d sit them down again. Half an hour’s free time in the evening, and that was all. Then they’d again have to buckle to. That’s how it was. He wouldn’t be reading the newspaper while his sons roved around the backstreets.

  Sometimes he plays the part of a youngster and sits down to play cards with the boys. How can a father like that inspire any awe in his children? Not like my dad. My brother wouldn’t have dared to look him in the eye. We’d tremble at the sound of his voice. It was enough for him to set foot in the house for all of us to stop talking. The boys felt they were taking their lives in their hands when they faced him. And the result of this upbringing is that all of them now have good jobs. True, none of them has good health; but then daddy’s health was not all that good either. Poor man, he was always falling ill. So how could his sons’ health be good? Anyway, be that as it may, education and correction was something he never spared any of them.