The Penalty

1

Just as Chhakaurilal opened his shop and began to arrange the bolts of cloth, in stepped a woman with two volunteers.

Chhakauri froze.

Scornfully, the lady said, ‘So, Lala, you broke open the seal, did you! But let’s see how you manage to sell even a scrap of cloth. My dear man, do you have no sense of shame? A freedom movement is on in the country and you are selling imported material. You should drown yourself. Even our women are participating, but you . . . If only our country did not have cowards such as you.’

At these reproachful words, Chhakauri hung his head. He did not know what to say. He had actually broken the Congress seal the previous day. His was a small shop. He stocked cloth on credit. It was his livelihood; on it depended his old mother, his ailing wife and five children. When the freedom movement began and all the merchants had their imported material stamped, he did the same. Then he bought ten bolts of Indian cloth on credit. But there was no comparison between the imported and the Indian cloth, and so he had hardly any business. If a customer walked in by chance, he might earn a rupee. After a hard day at the shop, he would return home at night. But this wouldn’t take care of the household expenses. So he borrowed some money and managed for a few days. Then he was forced to sell off jewellery. Soon there was nothing left in the house which would help them quieten the demons of hunger. At the same time his wife was incurably ill. There was no alternative but to check with a specialist. He was floundering in these anxieties when he found a customer for foreign cloth willing to buy ten rupees’ worth of cloth all at once. He couldn’t resist the temptation.

When his wife learnt what he was planning, she said, ‘I will never agree to your breaking the seal. Why should you become an object of scorn? The doctor can’t give me magic potion, can he? If I have to live, I’ll live, if I must die, I will die. At least we’ll face no disgrace. What good am I doing to this family by staying alive? I am nothing but trouble to everyone. Let the country win freedom, let the people be happy, so what if I die? Thousands of people are going to jail, so many homes have been ruined. Is my life more precious than any of theirs?’

But Chhakauri couldn’t be so sure. As long as he could help it, he wouldn’t leave his wife to her fate. Quietly, he broke open the seal and sold off the cloth at its cost price of ten rupees.

Now he had to find a doctor. But he couldn’t hide the truth from his wife. So he told her the whole story and set off to get the physician.

His wife caught hold of his arm. ‘I do not need a doctor. Do what you like, but I will not even look at the medicine.’

Chhakauri and his mother tried their best to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t agree to see a doctor. Exasperated, Chhakauri flung the ten rupees into a corner and, without taking a morsel of food, left for his shop, cursing his luck as he went along. Just as he reached there, some picketers arrived and began reprimanding him. The shopkeeper next door had tattled to the Congress Committee.

2

Chhakauri brought a broken, rusty iron chair from inside for the lady and rushed out to get her a paan. When she finished chewing the last bit and finally sat down, he asked to be forgiven for his transgression. He said, ‘Behenji, no doubt I have been at fault, however, I had no option but to break the seal. Forgive me this time. I will not repeat this mistake.’

The deshsevika spoke up with all the arrogance of a police officer, ‘This offence cannot be forgiven. You must pay a penalty for it. You have betrayed the Congress and you will be punished for it. This matter will be reported to the Boycott Committee right away.’

Chhakauri was an extremely meek and patient man. But the burden of anxiety had inflamed his heart to such a great degree that the slightest barb was enough to stoke its fire. He flared up. ‘A fine I cannot pay, and will not even try to pay. I will shut the shop if I must. And why should I close down the shop? The shop is mine, the goods in it are mine. If I complain to the police, the Boycott Committee will not know what to do. The more I yield, the more you people oppress me.’

Finally, finding an opportunity to display her non-violent strength, the lady said, ‘Of course, please go and report to the police. You must. You are threatening those very people who are sacrificing their lives for you. Have you become so blind in your self-love that you feel no shame in ruining the country for your self-interest? And to top it all, you are threatening me. It doesn’t matter whether the Boycott Committee stays or goes, you will have to pay a penalty. Or else, close down your shop.’

The lady’s face began to glow self-righteously. Many people had gathered around and they all began to abuse Chhakauri. Chhakauri realized that his threat to call the police had been a grave error of judgement. His head bent with shame and humiliation, his face fell completely. He remained like this long after.

The day went by and there wasn’t even a scrap’s worth of sale. Finally, completely defeated, he shut the shop and returned home.

The next morning the Boycott Committee sent a message through a volunteer that they had imposed a fine of a hundred and one rupees on him.

3

Chhakauri knew that he was utterly helpless against the Congress Committee. He deeply regretted the threat he had made earlier. But the arrow had already left the bow. It was pointless opening the shop now. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to sell anything at all. And paying up a hundred and one rupees was beyond him. He sat quiet for a couple of days. One night he brought home all the cloth from the shop and began selling it on the sly. He was throwing away his precious goods for the price of dirt. But then one needs to live on something.

Even this plan of his, however, didn’t remain hidden from the Congress for long. On the fourth day the agents conveyed the news to the committee. In the early afternoon of the same day, picketing started outside Chhakauri’s house. In fact, it was not mere picketing; it was a syapa, a full-blown public lamentation. Six female and six male volunteers had gathered to beat their breast and heap disgrace and abuse on the family.

Chhakauri stood in the courtyard, his head hung low. His mind refused to function. How was he to cope with this disaster? His bedridden wife lay close by under a thatched awning, while his aged mother sat at her head fanning her, and his children revelled in the syapa outside.

His wife said, ‘Ask these people, what should we eat?’

‘Who should I ask? Will anybody listen?’

‘Go tell the Congress to do something for us; we’ll burn all our cloth right now. They needn’t give us much, just twenty-five rupees a month will be enough.’

‘Nobody there will listen to us either.’

‘Why don’t you just go and ask rather than stand here and argue?’

‘What, go! People will make fun of me if I go. As soon as anybody opens a shop, the others think he is a lakhpati.’

‘So, you will keep standing here listening to their abuses.’

‘Okay, I’ll go if you insist but except ridicule, I will get nothing there.’

‘Just go because I am asking you to. If no one listens, we will find another way out.’

A crestfallen Chhakauri put on his kurta and started for the Congress office, looking like a man going to fetch the doctor for a patient on his deathbed.

4

After he had introduced himself, the Congress Committee pradhan asked Chhakauri, ‘You are the one on whom the Boycott Committee has levied a fine of a hundred and one rupees?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, when will you pay it?’

‘I cannot afford to pay a penalty. I am telling you the truth. No food has been cooked in my home for the last two days. Whatever we had saved has been used up. Now you have imposed a fine on me and I’ve been forced to shut shop. I began selling from home. But now they have set up a syapa there. If you desire to kill us without food, do so. I have nothing more to say.’

All that Chhakauri had intended to say when he started from home was left unsaid. He saw that there was no one here who would pay any heed to him.

The pradhan said gravely, ‘You must pay a fine. If I let you off, there will be others after you. How will we then stop the sale of imported cloth?’

‘Don’t you believe what I just told you?’

‘I know you are a wealthy man.’

‘Why don’t you search my house?’

‘I’m not going to fall for these tricks.’

Chhakauri replied haughtily. ‘So, why don’t you just say that you are not serving the country but sucking the blood of the poor. The police take lawfully, while you do it illegally. The result is the same. They insult us and so do you. I swear that we don’t have a morsel of food at home, that my wife is dying. But you still do not believe me. Why don’t you employ me? Just pay me twenty-five rupees a month. What more evidence do you need of my poverty? Throw me out after a month if my work is unsatisfactory. Can’t you see that I am ready to be your servant because I have no other choice? We are traders. If we can help it, we do not work for others. The times are bad or else I wouldn’t grovel so much for a mere hundred and one rupees.’

The pradhan chuckled. ‘This is a new ruse.’

‘I am not trying to play tricks, I am just telling you of my misfortune.’

‘The Congress does not have money to feed the fat.’

‘You still call me prosperous?’

‘But you are prosperous!’

‘Don’t you pity me at all?’

The pradhan responded profoundly, ‘Frankly, Chhakaurilalji, I cannot believe what you say. And even if I did, I couldn’t do anything for you. Many homes have been ruined in this great movement, many more will follow. All of us are being ruined. Can you see the enormous responsibility that I carry on my shoulders? If I pardon your fine today, tomorrow scores of your fellow traders will follow suit. We will be unable to dissuade them. You may be poor but not everybody is. Then all of them will try to give proof of their poverty. Should I search all their homes? Just go back and somehow arrange for the money. Then you can reopen your shop. God willing, a day will certainly come when you will make up for your loss.’

5

It was dark when Chhakauri got home. The syapa continued at his door. He said to his wife, ‘It was just as I had predicted. The pradhan did not believe me.’

His wife’s withered body became animated. She stood up and said, ‘Very well, we’ll make them believe us. Now I will die right outside the Congress office. My children will struggle in desperation in front of them. The Congress teaches us about satyagraha; let’s teach it the same lesson as well. My lifeless body will tear them apart. Will those who are so cruel now do justice once they are in power? Call for an ekka. I don’t need this bed. I will die on the pavement there. They exult because they have the strength of the people with them. I’ll show them who the masses are with, them or me.’

Chhakauri’s anger vanished when confronted with this fireball. He trembled at the very thought of taking on the Congress in this way. There would be panic in the entire town. Thousands of people would witness the scene. Even a riot might take place. His heart sank. Trying to pacify his wife, he said, ‘This is no way to go ahead, Amba. I’ll try and meet the pradhan one more time. It’s late now and the syapa will stop soon. We’ll see what to do tomorrow. You haven’t even eaten yet. The poor pradhan himself is in a difficult situation. He says that if he pardons me, there will be no discipline left. All the shopkeepers will break their seals and when they are pulled up, they will give my example.’

Amba stood staring at Chhakauri, undecided for a moment. Then she lowered herself slowly back on the bed. Her excitement dissolved into deep reflection. She thought of the responsibility that the Congress carried, and which she did too. The truth of the pradhanji’s words was no longer hidden from her.

‘You didn’t mention this when you came in.’

‘I couldn’t recall it then.’

‘Did the pradhanji say this or are you making it up?’

‘No, why should I make it up?’

‘He does have a point.’

‘We will be ruined anyway.’

‘We are already ruined anyway.’

‘Where will we get the money? We don’t know where our food will come from, so how can we pay the fine?’

‘At least we have a house. Let’s mortgage it. And now don’t sell imported cloth under any circumstances. Let it rot. You brought on this disaster because you broke the seal. Don’t worry about my medicines. Whatever the Almighty desires will happen. Let the children die of starvation if they have to. Crores of people in our country suffer a fate worse than ours. What does it matter if we die, at least the country will be happy.’

Chhakauri knew well that if Amba said something, she would surely act on it. She wouldn’t listen to any excuses.

Thoroughly fed up with her, he started walking towards the moneylender’s.

Translated from the Hindi by Chandana Dutta