Our Favourite Indian Stories (5 page)

'He would have certainly shot me dead.'

'We would have taken care of that.'

'How? What would have become of all of you?'

'Whatever God would have willed. Honour is man's greatest possession. It is stupid to raise your family at the cost of self-respect. At least you have come back after beating up that devil. I am proud of you. Had you come back after being beaten, I would have hated the sight of your face. Even if I did not put it in words, my respect for you would have gone. Now, whatever befalls us I shall accept gladly. Hey, where are you going? Listen, listen. Where are you off to?'

As if possessed, Fatehchand walked out of the house. Sharda kept calling out to him. He hastened towards the Saheb's bungalow— not cowering in fear, but proudly holding his head high. His face reflected firm resolve, his legs were no longer weak. His appearance had undergone a dramatic change. In place of a humble, pale office Clerk with an emaciated body, he had become a young man with courage and determination. Fatehchand first went to a friend's house to borrow a stick. Then, he headed for the Saheb's bungalow.

It was nine p. m. Saheb was having his dinner. Fatehchand did not wait for him to finish. As soon as the bearer left the room, Fatehchand slipped in through the wooden partition. The house was a-glitter with lights. On the floor was a carpet, the like of which Fatehchand had never seen.

The Saheb looked up angrily and shouted, 'How did you get in? Get out at once!'

'You asked me to get the file. That's what I've brought. Finish your dinner, then I'll show it to you. Take your time eating. This could be your last meal, so eat well.'

The Saheb was struck dumb. There was fear in his eyes. He trembled. He realised that the clerk had come prepared to kill or be killed.

It was a new Fatehchand he had to deal with. He weighed the pros and cons of taking on his clerk, 'I understand. You are angry. Have I said anything to upset you?'

Fatehchand drew himself up and replied— 'Just half an hour back you had taken me by my ears and had abused me soundly. Have you already forgotten?'

'I caught you by your ears? Ha-ha-ha-ha! What sort of a joke is this? Am I mad?'

'Am I lying? The peon was a witness. Your servants were also watching.'

'When did it happen?'

'Just half an hour back. You had sent for me and when I came you caught my ears without any reason and hit me.'

'Babu. Jee,
I was a little high. The bearer had given me too much to drink. I don't remember what happened.'

'If in your drunken state you had shot me, I would have died. Is everything excusable when you are drunk? I too am drunk now. Listen to my decision. Hold your ears and promise that hereafter you will never behave badly with any innocent person. If you don't, I shall box your ears! Do you understand? Don't move! If you so much as get up from your chair I'll use my stick. Don't blame me if your skull breaks. Just do as I say. Hold your ears!'

Saheb pretended to laugh it off, 'Well,
Babu Jee
, you do know how to take a joke. If I said anything wrong, I apologise.'

'Not good enough. Just hold your ears,' ordered Fatehchand, twirling his stick as he spoke.

Saheb could not take more. He jumped up, hoping to snatch the stick from Fatehchand's hands. But Fatehchand was alert. The moment Saheb got up from the table, he dealt a solid blow on his head. The Saheb staggered. He held his head in his hands and said — 'I shall sack you.'

'I don't give a damn. I will not leave without making you hold your ears and promise never again to treat a good man so nastily.'

Fatehchand lifted his stick again. The Saheb feared that the second blow might crack open his skull. Placing his hand on his ears he said — 'Are you happy now?'

'Say that you will never abuse anyone again.'

'Never again, I promise.'

'Alright. I shall leave now. I'm resigning from today. In my resignation letter I shall state that I resigned because you called me names.'

'Why are you resigning? I am not dismissing you.'

'I will not work under a wicked man like you.'

Fatehchand came out of the Saheb's bungalow and walked towards his home in a leisurely manner. He had tasted the pleasure of true victory. He had never felt happier. This was the first triumph of his life.

Translated by
Ms. Neelam Kumar

Yashpal

Sage Deerghalom had kept himself away from temptations of earthly bonds. Only once, just for a brief period, had he been drawn into family life and it was then that his wife had given birth to a daughter.

Self-enlightenment had followed and he had then taken up residence in a hermitage on the banks of the river Narmada. For him, salvation lay in self-denial. His wife and daughter lived in a hut nearby. Deeply devoted to her husband, his wife too avoided earthly entanglements and prayed that the light of her master's wisdom would help her attain salvation.

The sage had guided his daughter Siddhi, towards the path of self-denial. Brought up amidst Nature in their forest retreat, the girl had remained pure. In keeping with the rules of the hermitage, she sought to only perfect her soul.

Living in perfect chastity, Siddhi had stepped into her twenty-sixth year. Her long tresses had never been decorated with ornaments. The only ornaments that adorned her locks were the moss and the sand, which clung to her when she bathed in the Narmada.

On her forehead shone the trident—Lord Siva's holy symbol. Her maturing breasts, which she considered to be an inconvenient load to the body, would be gathered up in a plantain bark which she would knot up at the back. Below the waist she covered herself with deerskin.

In tune with her father's teachings, she considered the urges of the body to be evil and suppressed these ruthlessly as enemies of the soul. Her pleasure lay in harnessing the ego and putting a rein on unruly passions through spiritual exercises. Joy was the absence of desire; renunciation the purpose of life.

Sage Deerghaloma's hermitage by the river Narmada was surrounded by mountains and was situated in a secluded spot of the forest. Yet, even far-off monasteries—those by the rivers Godavari, Ganga, Yamuna and on the Himalayas, echoed with the glory of his spiritual attainments. For him, ritual was only a means to seclusion. He taught that the soul that seeped itself in worldliness became worn out; consequently, it suffered the endless cycle of birth, death and rebirth. The only way out was freedom from human bonds in which lay salvation and joy. The aim of life was the pursuit of such joy.

A learned and renowned interpreter of the Vedas, the Sage was constantly surrounded by devotees who came to him in search of knowledge and salvation. Kings and sages from far-off places came to listen to his discourses on detachment. During the rainy season, many wandering ascetics would camp in his hermitage. One of these was Needak.

Ascetic Needak had attained enlightenment early. He had taken to asceticism soon after reaching puberty. Through devotion to the Supreme Being, he had realised the futility of sensory pleasures. Through detachment and meditation he had as much access to the supernatural as to this world. Some of his yogic immersions lasted as long as ten to fifteen days at a stretch. It was rumoured that once, while he had been immersed in deep meditation a lark had built its nest
(need)
in his long hair. This is how he had got his name — Needak, or the one with the nest in his hair. Since then, word had spread about his power of meditation.

Sage Deerghaloma was happy to welcome ascetic Needak to his hermitage. He prayed that through his supreme wisdom the ascetic would be able to dispel the ignorance of the pleasure-seeking mind.

The hermitage was filled with the fragrance of aromatic roots, herbs and offerings made to the sacrificial holy fire. To this was added the scent of wild flowers wafting in the breeze. Sages and disciples had gathered under the big banyan tree to listen to ascetic Needak's sermon. A few elderly nuns and the girl Siddhi were also seated on one side.

Coloured rice had been scattered on the ground to welcome the sages. The hermitage deer frisked and frolicked about. Melodious tunes from the birds on the trees wafted about in the air. Indifferent to these distractions, learned sages engrossed themselves in listening to Needak's discourse on eternal bliss.

A long flowing beard covered Needak's face. Adorning his forehead was the sign of the trident, drawn out with the earth of the Narmada. Eyes bright with knowledge, he radiated self-confidence. The sacred thread across his broad, hairy chest tapered down to his narrow waist. Below the waist he was covered with a rough fabric. Seated thus in the yogic posture of
Padmasan,
the lotus position, he spoke on for hours.

'Logic is a perversion of the mind. Human needs and desires dictate one's reasoning; hence, directly or indirectly, they start advocating the cause of temptation. Knowledge of the Eternal Being can be attained only through inner perception, which transcends all other human faculties. Logic too is dependent on such perception. An air bubble is ephemeral,' he explained. 'Though it skims the surface, it is only a part of the mass of water. So is life merely a bubble on the ocean of the Supreme Being. A bubble such as this cannot be real. The eternal reality is
Brahman.
The cause of material consciousness is desire. Desire creates the bubble of life through this airy consciousness; and the bubble creates the ego and resultant suffering.'

'The soul is but a fragment of the Supreme Being' he continued. 'It is a manifestation of its playful aspect. Sensory perception— pain as well as pleasure, is an illusion. When the bubble created by the air of material consciousness disappears into the water, the soul reunites with the Supreme Being. In this lies eternal joy and salvation.

Everlasting pleasure is to be found in the rejection of ephemeral pleasure and in the pursuit of life everlasting. The path to vanquish desire is through meditation. Through meditation the barrier of material existence can be overcome and assimilation of the soul with God achieved. The body is the prison of the soul. To give attention to the body is to strengthen the prison. Those with wisdom should shun the needs of the body as this leads only to illusions. To rise above bodily needs is to find the way to salvation.'

Ascetic Needak glanced at his audience to observe the effects of his sermon. Some devotees sat with their eyes closed as if in an effort to assimilate this knowledge. Some gazed at him intently. He looked to his left. Nuns of the hermitage sat at his side. Their bodies were spent and shorn of youth. Devoid of any hope of physical pleasure, their eager eyes stared at the ascetic from the caves of their decaying forms, as if to absorb as much of the sermon as possible by way of some consolation. Their backs were bent. Their dried-up breasts hung uselessly down to their knees. Like mango peels which have been sucked up and then discarded, their bodies appeared to be monuments to the seeming meaninglessness of human life.

The girl Siddhi was sitting with the elderly nuns. Rigours of asceticism had lent brightness to her glowing youth. She looked like a sunflower blossoming out of common manure. Her long hair was tied up in a tight knot on top of her head. Her softly curving eyelashes were closed. Her youthful bosom was gathered up in a plantain bark, which she had tied at her back with a string. She sat, spine erect, in the yogic posture of meditation. Her shapely arms carried the holy signs of the morning's ablutions.

Ascetic Needak could not help noticing her presence. He said, 'The most opportune time for renunciation and meditation is youth. One should realise that attachment is misleading and it is renunciation that leads to supreme happiness. To realise this one does not have to wait for the onset of old age... In old age the physical senses, losing their vitality, become incapable of experiencing even the bare pleasures of life. In such a state how can they contain the subtle knowledge which leads to salvation?' He glanced at the frail wrecks of the nuns' bodies.

The confidence of youth surged through Needak's powerful frame. 'The time when the body radiates vigour is the time for battling with desire, for pursuing knowledge and self-mortification.'His gaze now wandered to Siddhi's bosom which was heaving with her deep breathing.

When the sermon ended at noon the sages dispersed for their frugal midday meal. Lost in thought, Needak walked by the riverside and settled down on a rock. Pangs of hunger reminded him that it was time to eat. He ignored this bodily need. Asceticism meant rigorous discipline of the body and control of its demands. The girl Siddhi was a living example of such self-control. Instantly, the ascetic reminded himself that it was not proper to let thoughts of the hermit-girl enter his mind.

Looking at the turbulent flow of the river he fell into a reverie. He looked at the fish playing about in the clear water and began to think about how carnal desires—the root cause of man's suffering could be conquered. Yet his thoughts kept returning to the vision of the hermit-girl in the posture of meditation. The erect spine, the forehead, nose, chin, the confluence of the breasts, the navel hidden in the folds of the stomach — all in one line.

Needak had seen women earlier. But he had passed by the simply clad nuns of the forests as well as the finely clad sinful women of the towns in detachment. Not once had he spared a thought for them. But the image of Siddhi continued to disturb him. Why, he asked himself, had she closed her eyes, when everyone else, including the other nuns had looked straight at him? Was she listening to him with unusual attentiveness? Or was it because she did not wish to look at him? Why did she not wish to see him? Was she afraid of him? But why? His thoughts began to torture him.

The frivolities of the fish distracted him. 'Those fish........' he muttered. A screech pierced the expanse of sky above the high rocks by the Narmada banks. Two kites were engrossed in love play. One, with wings outspread perched on the edge of a precipice while the other hovered above it under the sun. Here was need and deep animal compulsion. A kind of magnetism seemed to prompt the kites towards each other. Their cries filled the sky. Needak became agitated. With single-minded concentration he sought an answer to the riddle. 'What was it in the nature of those kites that was disturbing them? Could they not control their instincts? Why were they not afraid of the bondage of life and death? Why did their souls not aspire for final release, for Mukti?'