VENGEANCE

(SHORT STORY)

By VINOD SHANKAR VYAS

(Rendered from Hindi by Prof. A. N. Gupta, M.A.)

The country was in the grip of famine. The countryside wore a desolate look. The day appeared dreadful like a dark night. People sighed for corn, wept for money, and died of hunger. Oh, what a terrible joke was this of Providence! Eyes had sunk into sockets, shins had been bent, and the body was weak.

The village folk remarked it was all God’s displeasures. The rainy season passed off with looking vainly at the sky, winter passed off by shivering in the cold, and the summer is now passing in the sweltering heat of the sun. The land was sitting with its cloak of desolation spread all over.

The village was in the throes of agony. The moon had stolen the flicker of lamps in the huts. The moonlight would narrate to the huts their tale of woe by settling in their shadows. The jackal howled from far and near and the dogs barked. Silence reigned everywhere. The night was witnessing the frightful dance of despair.

Moti lay in his lonely hut occupied with his thoughts. The night struggled with his eyes. He was awake the whole night. He had to pay the land revenue to the landholder. He would be ejected from the land, his home would be gone, and everything would soon end.

Moti was poor. He was a servant of all. He was an unfortunate, helpless untouchable.

His goats, oxen and buffalo had been auctioned to pay his debts. He was dispossessed of his land. His hut was in ruins. Moti had only his red-and-white cow left. He loved it almost to madness. Whenever he shouted to it from his work in the field, it would come running. Like a tame dog the cow would follow Moti. He had brought it up from a little calf of nine months old, so it was the object of Moti’s exclusive endearment.

Moti planned to leave his wife Sona at her father’s house and go to Bombay. There he would take up a job, earn money and save himself from starvation.

He had no money for the railway fare, he would dispose of Lali. Sona pleaded with him not to sell Lali but Moti was helpless. Where could he get money from? He had lost his all, only Lali was left. It would also go in arranging the fare to Bombay.

Moti had become hard-hearted by submission to the brutality of others. He would rather sell himself, instead of selling Lali. But he had already lost his all. He had become stone-hearted.

Sona’s father was a watchman in another village. He was the owner of five bighas of land. Sona had asked Moti to go and live there. Her father had also remonstrated with him. But Moti hated the idea of living in his father-in-law’s house. He was a man of pride and self-respect.

Moti returned leaving Sona at her father’s place. At the time of farewell Sona, with tears in her eyes, said: “Don’t forget to send letters and if possible come within six months or a year.”

Moti went away saying, “As God wills.”

Moti held in high esteem Bhagwan Tewari. He was a simple unostentatious Brahmin of the village. He liked Moti’s Lali immensely. Whenever he saw Lali in the village he would lovingly pat its back. Moti knew that Lali would be comfortable at Tewari’s place, so he took Lali to his door and saluted him.

Tewari greeted him, “Halloo, Moti! How do you do?”

“Sir, I have lost all. I’m going to Bombay,” Moti replied.

“What can anybody do? Misfortunes never come single; the turn of events is very sad. The Zamindar is a rogue, there is instability everywhere. The clerk of the Zamindar is permitted to do whatever he likes. The Zamindar has no time to spare from his pleasures,”–so saying Tewari stared at Lali.

“Whatever was destined has come. I go from here now with your blessings. I don’t have money for the railway fare. I have come with Lali. I need twenty rupees. Lali will remain at your place,” Moti said in dejection. “He didn’t show even the slightest pity on you. He has completely broken you! When will you go?” Tewari said after some thinking.

“Today.”

Tewari went in and brought twenty rupees. Moti took the money and started looking at Lali. Lali was also casting its glance at him. It was a piteous sight. Moti put his arms around ‘Lali’s neck, kissed it and went away.

Sounds of ‘Bah’ ‘Bah’ were heard when he had gone some distance from there. Moti reflected that Lali was shouting to him, but he went away saying, with his hand on his heart, “Lali, if, by good luck, I had been a moneyed man...”

Moti was done up. He was broken.

(2)

Moti arrived in Bombay. He was puzzled at the sight the city presented. He was lost in a maze of business, so it seemed. A rustic, he didn’t know anyone. He was completely stupefied by the blare of the motor-horns and the deafening sound of the coming and going of horse carriages. “Where should he go? What should he do? Where will he get a job”–questions like these assailed him repeatedly. A few days passed. He had not the courage to break the ice.

It was evening. Moti was hungry. He had come a little distance from the main part of the city in search of a job. He stood at a place and began to look around him. There was a big enclosure where cows and buffaloes were tied. He noted a few persons, in dirty clothes like himself, working there. He saluted them and sought their acquaintance. He explained to them his purpose. They felt sympathetically disposed towards him. He was brought before the ‘Sahib’ and got employment.

It was the dairy of an Englishman. He traded in milk. Moti got the work of milching the cows. He was clever at this work. He was examined in the presence of the ‘Sahib’.

Time ran fast. He laboured hard at his job. His gentle disposition made him popular with all. He won the favour of the master. His trust in him grew.

He received a letter which Sona had got written for him. She had enquired about Moti and asked for money. She had also not forgotten to ask when he would go home.

Moti sent the money to Sona and got the following reply written–“I’m comfortable here. I am accumulating money with the Sahib. The milk trade is quite profitable here. I’ve learnt the secrets of the trade. I shall collect money by service for some more days and then establish an independent business of my own. It will fetch great profits; then I shall send for you.”

(3)

Two years passed.

Moti got cows and buffaloes from Delhi; in no time the tide of his fortune turned. He became intimate with success. He started selling milk, ghee, and butter. He was aghast at the speed of his success. Moti, who was at one time in want of a few grains of corn, now began to accumulate money.

Sona also came to Bombay with a relative of hers. Moti had now no worry about bread. Both began to spend their time happily. Moti, however, was busy with his work day and night. But Sona didn’t like city life. She had to remain content with only the possession of money.

Ten years had elapsed.

The Englishman went back to England. Moti had purchased his dairy. Moti had become an expert trader now. He was now elevated from Moti to Motilal. But he did not keep well in the climate of Bombay.

Sona one day said, “You’re losing weight everyday. We don’t like this place either. God has given us sufficient money. Let’s return home. We shall do farming; we don’t get any relief from this sort of life here.”

Moti sometimes gave thought to this kind of talk. Her plan found favour with him. He said one day, “Let’s go from here; we won’t stay here any more. What shall we do with so much money? Really those days were golden, when we returned in the evening to our hut after working the whole day in the field. It’s all a dream now.”

After some days Moti wound up his business. He collected cash by selling everything to a seth.

Sona enquired, “How much money do we have now?” Moti replied, It’s a little over a lakh.” Sona stared at Moti like a statue. They left Bombay for their village the same day.

(4)

It was a pleasant evening. Moti had returned home after ages. An imposing building was being constructed over his dilapidated hut. A great transformation had taken place. It was the magic of money that induced the people of the village to sit round Moti. He was narrating his story. From their talk Moti learnt that the Zamindar had sunk to the lowest abyss of degradation.

Moti felt great agony on seeing Lali. She had grown old now. She did not yield any milk. She was reduced to a skeleton. The same day Moti brought Lali to his home by placating the old Brahmin with money.

The village was to be auctioned today. The auction was being published by beat of drum at the residence of the Zamindar. Many rich people had gathered there. Enshrouded in the pall of debauchery, the Zamindar was watching the scene.

Moti got the news. He was sad. He came out with a bundle of currency notes. Sona thought that Moti would purchase the village at the auction. The village-folk were indulging in similar surmises.

Moti had heard the call of the auctioneer. He recollected the terribly dark days of the past. His heart began to beat. The Zamindar was sitting before him with downcast eyes. Moti could not control himself; he suddenly placed the bundle of notes at the feet of the Zamindar and said: “I have had a taste of this kind of trouble. May God not send similar misfortune to anyone! Take this and save your village. But for you, my life would not have changed and I would not have been able to amass wealth. So the money is yours.”

The Zamindar stared at Moti in surprise.

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