Chapter 25

Bhola had lately brought home a second wife. Without a woman his life was savourless. As long as Jhuniya was there, she would give him his hookah and water. She would call him to eat at the proper time. Now the poor man had become like an orphan. The daughters-in-law got no respite from the household work and tasks. What service and attention could they do him? So now a second marriage had become absolutely necessary. By chance a young widow was found, whose husband had been dead only three months. There was a son too. Bhola's mouth watered. Quickly he carried off the prize. Until the marriage was done, he dug out his whole house for it.

Until now, whatever was in his house had belonged to the daughters-in-law. What they wished, they did; as they wished, they lived. Ever since Jangi had gone off to Lucknow with his wife, Kamta's wife had been the mistress of the house. In five or six months she had got thirty or forty rupees into her own hands. She used to sell a seer or half a seer of milk and curds on the sly. Now the mistress was her stepmother-in-law. Her control galled the daughter-in-law, and every other day there were quarrels between the two. To such a point that, over the women, hot words passed even between Bhola and Kamta. The quarrel grew so great that it came to a separation, and it is a custom that has come down from time immemorial that at the time of separation there must surely be blows and beating. Here too that custom was observed. Kamta was a young man. Whatever hold Bhola had over him was on the strength of being his father, but by bringing a new wife he had now lost all right to receive respect from his son. At least Kamta did not accept it. He threw Bhola down and dealt him several kicks and turned him out of the house. He would not let him touch the things of the house. Among the villagers too no one took Bhola's side. The new marriage had made him a laughing-stock. The night he somehow spent under a tree; the moment morning came he went to Nokheram and laid his complaint. Bhola's village lay within Nokheram's estate, and whatever masters and headmen there were of the whole estate, it was they. What pity would Nokheram feel for Bhola — but seeing a brisk, gay-coloured woman with him, he agreed at once to give him shelter. Where his cows were tied, he gave Bhola a room there to live in. He suddenly began to feel the need of a knowledgeable man for the care of his animals and their feed and fodder. He engaged Bhola as a servant at three rupees a month and a seer of grain daily.

Nokheram was a short, fat, bald, dark man with a long nose and small eyes. He wore a large turban, a short kurta, and in winter went about wrapped in a quilt. He took great delight in being massaged with oil, so his clothes were always dirty and greasy. His family was very large. Seven brothers and their wives and children were all dependent on him. On top of that, his own son was studying English in the ninth class, and to keep up that young-master's style was no easy task. From Rai Sahib he got only twelve rupees in pay, but the expenditure was not a cowrie less than a hundred rupees. So if any tenant fell somehow into his clutches, he would not let him go without squeezing him well. Earlier his pay had been six rupees; then he did not fleece the tenants so much; ever since it had become twelve rupees, his greed too had increased the more, which is why Rai Sahib did not promote him.

In the village everyone else, in some form or other, acknowledged his sway — so much so that even Datadin and Jhinguri Singh flattered him; only Pateshwari was always ready to lock horns with him. If Nokheram had the conceit that he was a Brahmin and made the Kayasthas dance on his finger, Pateshwari too had the pride that he was a Kayasth, an emperor of the pen — who would carry off the prize from him in this field? Then, he was not the servant of a zamindar but the servant of a Government in whose realm the sun never set. If Nokheram kept the Ekadashi fast and fed five Brahmins, then Pateshwari would listen to the Satyanarayan recital every full-moon day and feed ten Brahmins. Ever since his eldest son had become a process-server, Nokheram had been on the lookout that somehow his own son might pass the tenth class, so that he too might be got a copyist's post somewhere. So he kept ever paying his salutations to the officials, bringing them seasonal gifts. In one more matter Pateshwari was ahead of him. People believed that he kept his widowed kahar-woman. Now to Nokheram too there seemed to come an opportunity to make up this deficiency in his own grandeur.

Reassuring Bhola, he said — "Live here in comfort, Bhola, there is no worry about anything. Whatever you need, come and tell me. There is your wife — some work or other will turn up for her too. To put grain into the granaries and take it out, to sift and winnow it — is that little work?"

Bhola pleaded — "Sir, just once call Kamta and ask — should this be a son's conduct towards a father? The house we built, the cows and buffaloes we got. Now he has grabbed everything and turned us out. Is this not injustice? Our master, after all, is you. In your court the judgement of this should be given."

Nokheram explained — "Bhola, you will gain nothing by quarrelling with him. What he has done, God will give him the punishment of it. Has anyone ever prospered by dishonesty? Had there been no injustice in the world, why would it be called a hell? Here, who asks after justice and dharma? God sees everything. He knows every particle of the state of the world. What is in your mind at this moment, how is that hidden from Him? That is why He is called the Inner-Knower. Where can anyone go, escaping Him? Sit quiet. If it is God's will, you will be no worse off here than there."

Rising from there, Bhola went to Hori and wept out his troubles. Hori told his own story — "These days, do not even ask about sons, brother Bhola. Rear them, dying by inches, and when they grow up they turn enemies. Just look at my Gobar. He quarrelled with his mother and went, and it is years now. No letter, no message. By his reckoning his parents are dead. The daughter's marriage is upon my head, but it is no concern of his. I have mortgaged a field and taken two hundred rupees. Honour and reputation must after all be kept up."

Kamta had indeed turned his father out, but now he began to realize what a hardworking man the old fellow had been. Getting up at dawn to do the feeding and watering, milking the cows, then taking the milk to market, coming back and again feeding and watering, again milking — within a fortnight his condition was wretched. There was a quarrel between husband and wife. The wife said — "I have not come to your house to give up my life. If my bread is too heavy a burden for you, then let me go off to my own home." Kamta was afraid — if she went off somewhere, then there would be no telling about the bread either; he would have to drudge with his own hands. At last he engaged a servant, but with him the work did not go. The servant began stealing oilcake and chaff and selling them. He got rid of him. Then again there was a quarrel between husband and wife. The wife went off in a huff to her parents' home. Kamta lost his head and feet. Beaten, he came to Bhola and began to entreat — "Father, whatever fault or mistake there has been on my part, forgive it. Now come and take charge of the house; as you keep me, so I shall live."

To Bhola, to live here like a labourer galled. The attentions he had received in the first month or two were now not there. Nokheram sometimes asked him even to fill the chillum or spread the cot. Then poor Bhola would sit there swallowing a draught of poison. Even if there were brawling and quarrelling in his own house, at least he would not have to dance attendance on anyone.

When his wife Nohri heard this proposal, she said with a toss of her head — "You will go again to the very place from which you came having taken a kick? Are you not ashamed?"

Bhola said — "Then am I sitting on a throne here?"

With a flounce Nohri said — "If you want to go, go; I am not going."

Bhola knew that Nohri would oppose it. The reason for it too he understood a little, saw a little too; and one reason for his wishing to run away from here was this very thing. Here no one asked after him, but Nohri received much attention. Even the peons and the constables acknowledged her sway. Hearing her answer, Bhola felt anger, but what could he do? Had he the courage to leave Nohri and go off, then Nohri too, beating her brains, would have gone trailing after him. Nokheram did not have the daring to keep her here alone under his protection. He was a creature who hunted from behind a screen, but Nohri had become acquainted with Bhola's nature.

Bhola said pleadingly — "See here, Nohri, do not be difficult. Now the daughters-in-law are not even there. Everything will be in your own hands. Just think how much disgrace there is in the brotherhood from doing labour here!"

Showing him her thumb, Nohri said — "If you have to go, go; I am not stopping you. The kicks of a son seem dear to you, perhaps; they do not seem so to me. I am content in my labour."

Bhola had to stay, and Kamta, flattering his wife, brought her round and fetched her back. Meanwhile concerning Nohri the whispers kept going about — "Today Nohri has worn a pink sari. Now there is nothing to ask; let her wear one sari every day. When the lover is a kotwal, then what is there to fear? Have Bhola's eyes burst, or what?"

Shobha was a great joker. He was the buffoon of the whole village — rather, its Narada. He kept ferreting out every matter. One day Nohri met him inside the house. He made a little jest. Nohri reported it to Nokheram. Shobha was summoned to the chaupal and given such a scolding as he would not forget all his life.

One day Lala Pateshwari Prasad's evil hour came. It was the days of summer. The Lala was having the mangoes plucked in the orchard. Nohri, decked and dressed up, passed that way. The Lala called out — "Nohri Rani, come this way, take a few mangoes; they are very sweet."

Nohri got the idea that the Lala was mocking her. By now she had begun to feel proud. She wished people to regard her as a zamindar's lady and to honour her. A proud person is generally suspicious. And when there is a thief in the mind, the suspiciousness grows greater still. Why did he look at me and laugh? Why does everyone burn at the sight of me? I do not go to beg anything of anyone. What great chaste lady is she — let her come once before me, then I shall see. By now Nohri had become acquainted with the secret affairs of the village. This same Lala keeps a kahar-woman, and he laughs at me. No one says anything to him. He is a great man, after all! Nohri is poor, low of caste, so all mock her. And as the father is, so is the son. It is this man's Rameshwari who goes about lovesick after Silia. They swoop on chamar-women like vultures, and on top of it they claim, "We are high."

Standing there, she said — "Since when have you become a giver of gifts, Lala? Given the chance, you would carry off the bread from another's plate. Today you have become a great man with mangoes. If you meddle with me, it will not turn out well, I tell you."

Oho! This cowherd-woman has such temper! What — has she snared Nokheram, that she thinks she rules the whole world? He said — "You are flaring up so, Nohri, as though you would now let no one stay in the village. Speak with a guarded tongue, do not forget yourself so soon."

"Then have I ever come begging at your door?"

"Had Nokheram not given you shelter, you would be begging too."

To Nohri it was like red chillies. Whatever came to her mouth, she ranted — "you beard-burnt, you lecher, you scorch-faced," and who knows what else; and, filled with that very anger, she went into her room and began taking out her vessels and pots and setting them outside.

When Nokheram heard, he came in alarm and asked — "What are you doing, Nohri? Why are you taking out your things? Has someone said something?"

Nohri knew the art of making men dance. In her life she had learned just this one accomplishment. Nokheram was an educated man. He knew the law too. He had read many books of religion too. He had set straight the shoes of great pleaders and barristers, yet he was a plaything in the hand of this foolish Nohri. Knitting her brows, she said — "It is the turn of fate that I have come here, but I shall not lose my honour."

The Brahmin grew ablaze. Twirling up his moustaches, he said — "Whoever looks at you, let me pluck out his eyes."

Nohri, making the iron red-hot and striking the hammer, said — "Lala Pateshwari, whenever you see me, talks needless talk to me. I am not a wanton, that anyone should flash money at me. There are women throughout the village; no one speaks to them. Whoever you see, it is only me he molests."

A demon mounted Nokheram's head. He took up his thick cudgel and, storming like a gale, reached the orchard and began to challenge — "Come out, if you are a great man. I shall pull out your moustache, I shall dig you a grave and bury you! Come out before me. If you ever again molest Nohri, I shall drink your blood. I shall knock all the patwari-ship out of you. As he is himself, so he thinks others to be. In what pride are you?"

Lala Pateshwari, his head bowed, holding his breath, stood stock-still. The least he opened his tongue, calamity would come. So great an insult had never befallen him in his life. Once people had surrounded him by night at the edge of the tank and beaten him soundly, but no one in the village had got word of it. No one had any proof. But today, before the whole village, his honour had been undone. The woman who only yesterday had come to the village asking for shelter, today her terror lay over the whole village. Who now had the courage to molest her? When Pateshwari could do nothing, what reckoning of others?

Now Nohri was the queen of the village. Seeing her come, the peasants would step out of her path. It was an open secret that by performing a little worship of her, much could be got done from Nokheram. If someone had to get a partition done, had to ask for a respite for the rent, needed land to build a house, without performing the worship of Nohri his work could not be accomplished. Sometimes she would scold even good substantial tenants. Not only the tenants — now she had begun to lord it even over the manager himself.

Bhola did not wish to live as her dependant. To live on a woman's earnings was, in his eyes, the basest thing of all. He got three rupees a month in all, and even that did not come into his hands. Nohri skimmed it off the top. He could not get a half-cowrie's worth of tobacco to smoke, and Nohri ate up two annas of pan a day. Whoever you saw, lorded it over him. The peons made him fill their chillum, cut their wood; the poor man, weary and worn out the whole day, would come and lie on a stringless cot under the tree at the door. There was not even anyone to give him a lota of water. The stale bread of noon he had to eat at night, and that too with salt or with water.

At last, beaten, he resolved to go home and live with Kamta. Even if nothing else, at least a morsel of bread would be got; his own home, after all, was there.

Nohri said — "I shall not go there to be anyone's slave."

Hardening his heart, Bhola said — "I am not telling you to go. I am only telling myself."

"You will leave me and go off? Are you not ashamed to say it?"

"Shame I have ground up and drunk long ago."

"But I have not drunk my shame. You cannot leave me and go."

"You are wilful — then why should I be your slave?"

"I shall hold a panchayat and smear your face with black, understand that much."

"Is little black smeared on it even now? Do you still wish to keep me in deceit?"

"You are showing such heat, as though you have ornaments made for me every day. Well, here Nohri is not one to bear anyone's heat."

Bhola got up in a temper and, taking up the stick from the head of the bed, set off, when Nohri sprang and caught his wrist. To get out of her strong grip was hard for Bhola. He sat down quietly like a prisoner. There had been a time when he used to make women dance on his fingers; today he was bound in the arm-grip of one woman and could in no way get free. By trying to free his hand, he did not wish to draw aside the curtain. He had got the measure of his own limits. But why did he not fearlessly say to her — "You are not the woman for me; I cast you off. You threaten a panchayat! Is a panchayat some bogey? If you have no fear of the panchayat, why should I fear the panchayat?"

But this thought could not summon the courage to come into words. It was as though Nohri had cast some spell of subjugation over him.