The Widow with Sons

1

When Pandit Ayodhyanath passed away, everyone remarked, ‘May God give such an end to everyone!’

He was survived by four grown-up sons, all married, and a daughter, yet unmarried. He had left behind a considerable fortune; a brick-house, two orchards, jewellery worth several thousands of rupees, and twenty thousand in hard cash. For a long time, Phulmati, his widow, remained in a state of mourning, but she composed herself with the thought that she had four grown-up sons to look to. All four of them were impeccably mannered and all their wives exceedingly obedient. When she lay down at night, the four of them took turns to massage her feet. When she would take her bath it is they who picked out a sari for her. Thus the entire household danced to her tune. The eldest son, Kamatanath, worked in an office for fifty rupees a month. Umanath, the younger one, had qualified as a doctor and was hoping to open up a clinic. The third, Dayanath, having failed his BA examination, was somehow managing a living by writing for magazines. Sitanath, the fourth, was the brightest of them all, and having passed his BA in the first division, was now preparing for his MA examination. None of the sons had any vices, or had such improvident habits that would bring grief to the mother or disgrace the family honour. For all practical purposes, Phulmati was in charge of the household. However, the keys remained in the custody of the eldest bahu. The old woman did not make an ostentatious show of her authority which often makes the elderly irascible and querulous, but no one could demand and have anything without her wish.

It was evening. Twelve days had gone by since Panditji had passed away. Tomorrow would be the thirteenth day of the death rites. A big ritual feast to which all relatives and members of the fraternity were invited, had to be arranged. The preparations were in progress. Phulmati, seated in her room, could see people bringing in bagful of flour, ghee tins, baskets full of vegetables, bags of sugar and containers of curd. Several other things were brought for offering; utensils, clothes, beds, bedding, umbrellas, shoes, sticks and lanterns, but Phulmati was not shown anything. As had been the custom, all these items should have been first brought to her for approval. She would size everything up, approve of it, and would suggest proper measure, before it could be stored. But, why was she not consulted, or shown anything? And why only three bags of flour when she had asked for five. Ghee too was only in five tins when she had asked for ten. Similarly, every other item like vegetables, sugar, curds must have been cut down upon. Who dared to interfere with her orders? Once she had decided on something, who could have any right to tamper with the quantities?

For forty years, Phulmati’s word prevailed in all matters. If she wished hundred rupees to be spent, hundred were spent; if she asked for one, then just one. Nobody ever did any nitpicking. Even Pandit Ayodhyanath didn’t ever go against her wishes. But, today, right in front of her eyes, she was being ignored. How could she tolerate all this?

For a moment, she kept quiet; but couldn’t restrain herself any longer. She was used to her rightful autonomy. Full of anger, she went to Kamatanath and said, ‘Why have you brought just three bags of flour; I had asked for five? And ghee, too, is only in five tins. Don’t you remember I had asked for ten? Prudence is not bad but if a person who dug the well himself remained thirsty—isn’t that such a disgrace?’

Kamatanath did not care to say he was sorry, nor did he feel ashamed. For a moment he stood defiant, then said, ‘We decided on three bags for which five tins of ghee would be enough. In the same way we cut down on the other quantities too.’

Phulmati reacted sharply, ‘Who suggested a cut in the flour?’

‘We did.’

‘Does my opinion count for nothing?’

‘Why not, but we too can understand our gain and loss.’

A flabbergasted Phulmati stared at him. She couldn’t get what he intended by ‘gain and loss’. She very well understood the gain and the loss of this household. Others, even if born of her, had no business to interfere with what she did. This insolent fellow was talking back as if the house belonged to him alone, as if he had suffered to raise this family, and she was an outsider. Look at his audacity!

Her face flushed with anger as she retorted, ‘You are not to count my gain or loss. I have the right to do what I think proper. Go right away and bring two more bags of flour and five tins of ghee, and beware of disregarding my orders in future.’

She had given him quite a dressing-down. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so harsh. She felt sorry for it. Well, they were boys after all. It was natural for them to think in terms of economy. Maybe they didn’t ask me because they knew I myself am thrifty. Had they known that I wouldn’t skimp on anything in this matter, they wouldn’t have dared defy me. Although Kamatanath was standing in the same manner, it was apparent that he was in no mood to comply. Phulmati, however, felt assured, and went off to her room. She couldn’t have entertained the thought of someone not following her word.

As time passed by, it became apparent to her that she no longer had the same status in this house that she had enjoyed ten or twelve days ago. From the kinsmen came various offerings of sugar, sweetmeats, curds, pickle, etc., which were stowed away by the eldest bahu as her own possessions. No one came around to take her advice. If any of the relatives had something to ask, they went straight to Kamatanath or his wife, as if he was the most responsible or resourceful person of the house. In fact, most of the time he could be found stoned with bhang. Somehow he managed to go to his office, but that too, for no more than fifteen days in a month. The sahibs had regard for Panditji or else he would have been fired long ago. His wife, an insensitive woman, could not appreciate a situation like this. She was not even capable of taking care of her personal belongings, let alone manage the household. What a shame! They were all bent upon bringing disgrace to the family. At some stage, something or the other could run out of stock. One needs to exercise a lot of prudence to see to such things. Something may be in surplus and one wouldn’t know how to dispose it of, while other items would be in such small quantities that they would hardly reach each platter. What has struck all of them? Well, why was the eldest bahu opening the safe? Who is she to do that without my permission? The keys are in her custody, all right, but she is not supposed to open the safe unless I authorize her to do so. But look at her, today she is opening the safe as if I count for nothing. No, I can’t stand it any more.

Rising peremptorily she went over to the eldest bahu and said sternly, ‘Why are you opening the safe? I never asked you to!’

The elder bahu replied nonchalantly, ‘Won’t we pay for the things purchased?’

‘I don’t know anything about how things were purchased and in what quantities? How can there be payments unless there are proper accounts?’

‘Well, all is settled.’

‘Who did that?’

‘How do I know? Go and ask the men. I was ordered to fetch money for payments, and I am merely doing that.’

Phulmati could hardly suppress her ire. But it was no time to get into a foul mood. The house was full of guests—men, women, all. If she lost her temper with the boys now, the people will gossip that the family was splitting up soon after Panditji had died. She braced herself and walked up and withdrew to her room. But she was determined to take everyone to task once the guests had left. Let her see how they face her and respond to her. She was going to smash the coterie.

She felt restless even in her room and kept an eagle-eyed watch on the entire scene. Which rules of hospitality were not observed? Where had someone overstepped the bounds of honour? The feast had begun. All the guests were asked to be seated in rows. The courtyard had room for barely two hundred people. She wondered how five hundred people could be accommodated in this space. Were they going to pile up one upon the other? Would there be two shifts? What was the harm if the people were to be seated in two shifts? At the most, the feast would be over by two at night rather than at twelve. But everybody seems to be in a hurry to get away and sleep. Let this damn thing be over so that one may sleep in peace. The diners are sitting so close to one another that one can’t even move edgeways. The pattals are overlapping. The puris served have gone cold—there is a clamour for hot puris. When the maida puris become cold, they stiffen like leather. Who is going to eat such stuff! Why has the cook been sent off so early? So very irritating!

Suddenly, there was an uproar. The vegetable dishes had no salt. The elder bahu quietly set about powdering salt. Enraged, Phulmati was biting her lips, but couldn’t have spoken at such a juncture. At last salt powder was brought and sprinkled over the platters. There was another uproar: ‘The water is hot—we need cold water.’ But cold water had not been arranged for; no one had thought of getting any ice. Someone was rushed to the market but where could one get ice so late in the night? The fellow returned empty-handed. Guests had to make do with the warm tap water. If Phulmati had her way, she would tear the boys from limb to limb. Her house had never before witnessed such ignominy. And yet, everyone was dying to be the master of the house. It hadn’t occurred to anyone to order for such an essential item as ice. How would it strike anyone when they were busy gossiping? How must the guests be wondering there wasn’t any ice in the house and the entire community had been invited to a feast?

There was more commotion. The diners were getting up from their places. What must the matter be?

Phulmati could not remain unconcerned. Emerging from her room she came into the courtyard and asked Kamatanath, ‘What is the matter, son? Why are the people getting up?’

Kamatanath did not answer her, and quietly slipped away from there. That irritated Phulmati. Suddenly she met the maid and asked her the same question. She was told that a dead mouse was found in someone’s curry. Phulmati stood transfixed. She was in a terrible rage, fuming from within, as if she would dash out her brains against the wall. These accursed fellows were in charge of the feast. It was the height of grossness. How many people have had their dharma abused. Why won’t they get up after witnessing all this? Everything has come to nought. Hundreds of rupees have gone to waste; not to talk of this utter ignominy.

The guests have dispersed. And the food was still lying on the pattals. All four sons standing in the courtyard were a picture of disgrace. They were now blaming each other. The eldest bahu was getting angry at the younger ones, who in turn put all the blame on Kumud, which made her cry. Just then, Phulmati appeared and burst out: ‘Are you satisfied with the disgrace you have brought on or is there something still left? Go and drown yourself, all of you. We cannot show our faces in the town.’

None of the sons responded.

Phulmati became more vehement: ‘It doesn’t affect you, since none of you has any sense of honour. Only he who has spent his life bringing dignity to this house can grieve. Why have you brought disrepute to his noble soul? The entire community has contempt for us. No one will ever come to even urinate at your door.’

Kamatanath listened to her silently for a while, then got irritated and said, ‘Now keep quiet, Amma. We admit our mistake, indeed, this was a blunder. But are you going to hang us for this? Everyone commits mistakes only to repent later. But you do not cry for their blood.’

The eldest bahu tried to clear it up. ‘How would we know Kumud couldn’t do even this much of the job? She should have checked the vegetables before pouring them into the cauldron. She just emptied the whole basket into it. How can we be blamed for this?’

Kamatanath admonished his wife, ‘No single person, not even Kumud, not you, nor I is to blame for this. It was just a matter of chance. We were destined for this disgrace. When there is such a big feast, you do not put fistfuls of vegetables into the karhai. Entire baskets have to be emptied. Such mishaps do take place occasionally.

‘How can this be an object of mockery or disgrace? You are unnecessarily adding insult to injury.’

Phulmati gnashed her teeth in disgust and said, ‘Instead of feeling ashamed, you speak so insolently.’

Kamatanath was not one to be subdued. ‘Why should I be ashamed? Have I committed some theft? Ants in sugar and pests in wheat are easily overlooked. We didn’t watch out and that was a slip—that was it. Or else we would have quietly thrown out the mouse and none would be any the wiser.’

Phulmati was aghast at hearing this. ‘What did you say? The dead mouse would have defiled everyone’s dharma.’

Kamata said smilingly, ‘Amma, which age are you living in? Such trifles do not corrupt anyone’s dharma. Tell me who among the so-called virtuous people who walked off from there don’t eat meat? They won’t spare even tortoises and snails. How would a little mouse defile them?’

Phulmati felt as if doomsday was very near. ‘God save dharma! Even educated people harbour such unrighteous notions.’ Cut up, she withdrew.

2

Two months went by. Night had fallen. The four brothers, having done with the day’s job, were sitting in the room and chatting. The eldest bahu was in league with them, the topic being discussed was Kumud’s wedding.

Kamatanath reclined against the bolster and said, ‘Father’s words are gone with him. Pandit Murari is a learned man and should be a gentleman. But a person who barters his learning and status for money is rather mean and we couldn’t marry Kumud off to such a person’s son, not for an amount, let alone a dowry of five thousand rupees. Send him a refusal and look out for another groom. We only have twenty thousand rupees with us, which means five thousand as each one’s share. If we set aside five thousand for dowry and five thousand for other things, such as band, etc., we will be stripped of all the money we have.’

Umanath quipped, ‘I need at least five thousand rupees to start my clinic. I cannot spare anything out of my share. In the beginning, there will be hardly any earnings and I shall have to fall back on whatever resources I have.’

Dayanath was looking at a newspaper. Taking off his glasses, he said, ‘I too, am thinking of publishing a newspaper. I need a capital of at least ten thousand rupees for the printing press and the newspaper. If I can invest five thousand rupees, somebody can chip in as a partner with another five thousand rupees. I can’t get by on writing articles for others’ newspapers.’

Kamatanath nodded in agreement. ‘No one publishes articles even for free, let alone pay for them.’

Dayanath contradicted him and said, ‘Well, not so really. I don’t write for anyone unless I get some advance.’

Kamatanath took his words back. ‘I am not speaking of you, you may be getting paid, but not everyone can manage that.’

The elder bahu said, ‘If a girl is born under lucky stars she will be happy even in an impoverished home. But if she is unlucky, she will feel miserable even in a king’s home. It is all a matter of destiny.’

Kamatanath looked at his wife with admiration. ‘We have to marry Sita off this very year.’

Sitanath was the youngest of the brothers. Even while keeping his head down, he was getting impatient to criticize the selfish motives of his brothers. So as soon as he heard his name, he said, ‘Do not bother about my marriage. I will not even talk of it unless I start earning. Truly speaking, I don’t really want to marry. What our country needs is people who work, rather than adding to the population. You can spend my share of the money on Kumud’s wedding. Having once fixed with Pandit Murarilal, it would be unbecoming to snap the relations.’

Uma protested loudly. ‘How do we manage ten thousand rupees?’

Sita said with some diffidence, ‘I am willing to contribute my share of the money.’

‘What about the remaining amount?’

‘Murarilal can be asked to lower the dowry demand. He cannot be so selfish as not to be accommodating. If he is satisfied with three thousand rupees, the marriage can be arranged within five thousand rupees.’

Uma said to Kamatanath, ‘Do you hear what he is saying?’

Dayanath spoke up, ‘What is the harm? He is giving up his share, why not spend it? We have no grudge against Murari Pandit. On the other hand, I am happy to know that there is someone among us who is willing to make a sacrifice. He has no immediate need for money. He gets a stipend from the government. As soon as he passes his examination he will find some job. We are not that lucky.’

Kamatanath spoke with circumspection, ‘What would he know about loss? If one of us suffers should others do something about it? He hasn’t yet grown up and doesn’t realize that a single rupee is worth a lakh of rupees in difficult circumstances. Who knows he might get a scholarship to study in a foreign country, or get selected for the civil services. At that time he will require at least four to five thousand rupees to equip himself with. Where will he then go begging for money? I don’t want him to ruin his life for the sake of a dowry for Kumud.’

Sitanath couldn’t refute his argument. With some hesitation he conceded, ‘In that case, I shall need the money.’

‘Is that not likely to happen?’

‘It is not unlikely, but perhaps difficult. Those who can manage recommendations get scholarships. Who is going to bother about me?’

‘At times recommendations count for nothing and those without them romp home.’

‘Well, do as you wish. As far as I am concerned I can forgo an overseas trip, but want Kumud married off into a good family.’

‘You don’t get a family only with a dowry. As your bhabhi said, it is all in one’s stars. What I want is that Murarilal should be sent a refusal and we should look for a groom who would agree to a small dowry. I cannot afford to spend more than a thousand rupees on this marriage. How about Pandit Deendayal?’

Uma was delighted to hear that and said, ‘He is excellent. Doesn’t matter if he is not an MA and BA, but he earns a good living from his jajmani.’

Dayanath objected, ‘We should seek Amma’s opinion.’

But Kamatanath saw no need for this, and said, ‘She has lost her reason, and has the same orthodox views. She is all out for Murarilal. Doesn’t realize that the times have changed. All she wants is to send Kumud to Murari’s house, even if we are ruined in the bargain.’

Uma expressed some doubt. ‘You just watch out, Amma is going to give away all her jewellery to Kumud.’

Kamatanath couldn’t be so selfish. ‘Well, the jewellery is her sole possession. It is her dower. She can give it to anyone she likes.’

Uma interjected, ‘It is her dower, but does that mean she should squander it away? After all, that too was Dada’s earning?’

‘Whosoever might have earned it, but she has full rights on it.’

‘These are labyrinths of law. Twenty thousand will have four claimants and jewellery worth ten thousand will be only Amma’s. You just wait and watch; she will marry Kumud off to Murari Pandit on the strength of this jewellery.’

Umanath was in no mind to let go of such a huge amount. He was adept at trickery. He would cook up some story and wangle the jewels out of the mother. Till then it would be rather indiscreet to provoke Phulmati by bringing up the subject of Kumud’s marriage. Umanath nodded his head and said, ‘The jewellery will be of no less value than ten thousand rupees.’

Kamatanath was not moved and said, ‘Whatever their worth, I cannot be party to something that is unethical.’

‘All right then, you be off. Don’t jump in later to upset things.’

‘I’ll stay away from all this.’

‘And you, Sita?’

‘I too will stay away.’

But when Dayanath was told about it, he promptly agreed to conspire with him.

He will at least get two and a half out of ten. If one has to resort to some trickery for such a large sum, it’s all in the game.

3

Phulmati had retired after her dinner when Uma and Daya came over to her. They looked so pathetic in appearance as if some great calamity had befallen them. Phulmati asked apprehensively, ‘Both of you look perturbed.’

Uma scratched his head and said, ‘Writing for newspapers is a risky business, Amma. However cautious you may be, you get caught sometime or the other. Dayanath wrote an article for which a surety of five thousand rupees has been demanded from him. If the amount is not deposited by tomorrow, he will be arrested and sent to jail for ten years.’

Phulmati beat her head in desperation. ‘Why do you write such things, son, you should know we are already passing through tough times? Can’t the surety be avoided?’

Dayanath replied sheepishly, ‘Amma, I had not written any such thing, but what to do about misfortune? The district magistrate is so strict that he will show no mercy. I have left no stone unturned.’

‘In that case didn’t you ask Kamata to arrange the money?’

Uma said with a grimace, ‘You know his nature, Amma, money is dearer to him than life. He may be condemned to solitary confinement, but he will not part with a single pie.’

Dayanath supported him. ‘I didn’t think it proper to even take this issue to him.’

Phulmati, rising from her bed, said, ‘Come with me, I will tell him, how can he refuse to give? Money is meant for such emergencies and not to be kept hidden underground.’

Umanath stopped his mother and said, ‘Amma, don’t tell him anything. Instead of giving money he will raise hell. He is more concerned with saving his own job, and he won’t even allow Dayanath to live in the house. I wouldn’t be surprised if he even reports it to the officers.’

Phulmati felt helpless. ‘So how are you going to arrange for the surety? I have got nothing with me. Yes, I do have my jewellery. Take these and pawn them with someone to deposit the surety amount. And swear that you will never write such things for any newspaper.’

Dayanath put his hands on his ears. ‘Amma, it is just not possible for me to take away your jewellery to save my skin. No matter if I am sentenced to ten or five years’ imprisonment. I shall go through this ordeal. What purpose do I serve here?’

Phulmati, beating her breast, said, ‘What are you saying, my son—who has the guts to arrest you as long as I am alive? Won’t I torch his face? Isn’t the jewellery meant for such a rainy day? What shall I do with it if you are not around? Throw it into the fire?’

She brought out the jewellery box and put it in front of him.

Daya looked at Uma beseechingly, and said, ‘What is your opinion, Bhai Sahib? That is the reason I was telling you there was no need to tell Amma about it. The worst that can happen is that I will end up in jail.’

Uma as if coming to his defence said, ‘How is it that such a calamity would have passed Amma by? It wasn’t possible for me to keep quiet about it. I just can’t see what is to be done now. I don’t want you to go to jail nor is it right to pawn Amma’s jewellery.’

Phulmati said in a plaintive voice, ‘Do you think the jewellery is dearer to me than you are? I can even sacrifice my life for your sake, the jewellery is not even worth mentioning.’

Daya said resolutely, ‘Amma, I won’t have your jewellery whatever misfortune may befall me. I have been of no use to you so far, how can I now take away your jewellery? A wicked son like me should not have been born to you. I have always given you pain.’

Phulmati spoke up as firmly, ‘If you do not accept these jewels I will myself go and pawn these and shall deposit the amount with the district magistrate. You can test me if you like. God alone knows what will happen when I am no more, but as long as I am alive, nobody can ever touch you.’

Umanath, as if obliging his mother, said, ‘There is no other way left for us now. There is no harm, then, accept these, but remember to redeem and return the jewellery as soon as you have the money. It is true that motherhood is a long process of sacrifice. Who else but a mother can shower so much love? We are so unfortunate that we do not show even a fraction of the respect which is due to her.’

Both of them, as if getting over a big dilemma, took charge of the jewellery box and took off. Their mother looked at them lovingly as if all her being’s blessings were eager to embrace them. Today, after so many months her heart, shadowed with grief, got some solace after making this sacrifice of all she had. Her whole being was indeed looking for ways and means to surrender her possessions. Her attitude never smacked of greed or self-interest. She knew that her enjoyment and her authority lay in sacrifice. She felt overwhelmed as if her rights had-been restored to her.

4

Three more months passed. After making away with their mother’s jewellery all four brothers began fawning upon her. They also instructed their wives not to give her any offence. If being a little polite could placate her heart, what was the harm in it? They did what pleased them but took care to take her token advice. They manipulated things in such a manner that she would be easily taken in by them to give her ready consent. She was most unwilling to sell the orchard but they cooked up such stories that she felt compelled to consent to the sale. However, no consensus could be reached regarding Kumud’s marriage. The mother was intent on Pandit Murarilal whereas the sons were bent upon Deendayal. Then they quarrelled over the matter one day.

Phulmati declared that a daughter, too, had all the claims on her parents’ money. She told the sons, ‘You got the orchards worth sixteen thousand rupees and a house worth twenty-five thousand rupees. Can’t she claim even five thousand out of the cash of twenty thousand?’

Kamata said politely, ‘Amma, Kumud is not only your daughter, she is our sister, too. You will pass away in two to four years but our relation with her will last long years. We will never do anything that goes against her well-being, but as far as a share for her is concerned she is entitled to nothing whatsoever. It was different when Dada was alive. He could have spent as much as he liked on her marriage. No one would have restrained him, but things are different now. We have to manage everything with utmost care and look after every paisa. There is no wisdom in blowing five thousand if something can be managed within one thousand.’

Umanath corrected him, ‘Not five thousand, but ten thousand.’

Kamata shrugged it off and said, ‘No, I will say five thousand. It is not within our means to spend five thousand rupees.’

Phulmati put her foot down. ‘Come what may, she will be married off only to Murarilal’s son, no matter five thousand or ten thousand. After all, it is all my husband’s earning. I have put it together with great difficulty. And I will spend it as I like. You alone are not born of me. Kumud too has taken birth from the same womb. All of you are equal in my eyes. I am not begging anything of anyone. You just sit and watch the show, I will manage everything. Out of twenty thousand rupees, five thousand belong to Kumud.’

Kamatanath was left with no choice but to speak out the bitter truth, and said, ‘Amma, you are unnecessarily aggravating the situation. The money that you think is yours doesn’t really belong to you but to us. You can’t spend anything out of it without our permission.’

Phulmati felt as if she had been bitten by a snake. ‘What did you say? Come on, repeat it. I can’t spend my own money?’

‘The money is not yours, it belongs to us.’

‘Yours only after my death.’

‘Not so, it became ours as soon as Dada died.’

Umanath said shamelessly, ‘Amma doesn’t understand the law and quarrels with us unnecessarily.’

Phulmati spoke in anger and indignation, ‘To hell with your law. I don’t respect such law. Your father was not a millionaire. I scrimped and saved and held the family together or you would have no shelter for yourself. You can’t touch my money as long as I am alive. I spent ten thousand rupees on each of your brothers’ weddings, and I am going to spend the same amount on Kumud’s marriage.’

Kamatanath grew wild. ‘You have no right to spend anything.’

Umanath admonished his elder brother, ‘Bhai sahib, you are unnecessarily arguing with Amma. Simply write a letter to Murarilal telling him that Kumud can’t be married into their family. That’s the end of it. She doesn’t understand any law and gets into useless arguments.’

Phulmati composed herself and said, ‘Well, let me hear what the law says.’

Uma said with exasperation, ‘The law says that the ancestral property goes to the sons after their father’s death. The mother is merely entitled to food and clothes.’

Phulmati reacted sharply. ‘Who made this law?’

Uma said quietly, ‘Our rishis, the maharaja Manu, who else?’

For a moment Phulmati was dumbstruck and then let out painfully, ‘So, I am living in this house at your mercy.’

Umanath said impassively, ‘Well, you may take it as you like.’

Phulmati cried out at this thunderbolt. The words emitted as sparks as she said, ‘I made the house; I managed the property, I gave you birth and brought you up. And today I am a stranger in my own house? Is that Manu’s edict, and do you want to follow it? All right, have your house to yourself. I can’t go on living here as your dependant. I would rather die. What a shock! I planted the tree but can’t stand in its shade. If that is the law, to hell with it!’

The four youngsters were not in the least intimidated by this show of anger of their mother. As they thought they had the protective shield of law, how could such pinpricks harm them?

After a short while, Phulmati left. For the first time, she felt that her disheartened motherhood was cursing her. The motherhood, her sole treasure, which she had cherished above all her aspirations, was now a burning furnace, into the flames of which her life was consigned.

It was evening. The neem tree in the courtyard stood with drooping branches as if depressed with the ways of the world. On the western horizon the lord of light and life was burning it its own pyre; so was Phulmati’s motherhood.

5

When Phulmati retired to her room and lay on the bed, she felt as if her back was broken. Even in her dreams it had never occurred to her that her own sons would turn into her enemies as soon as her husband died. The sons whom she had nurtured and suckled were inflicting terrible wounds on her heart. This house was now a bed of thorns for her.

To live here and feed herself in a place where she had lost all respect and counted for nothing was something that was unbearable to her proud nature.

But what was the way out for her? If she lived apart from the sons who was going to suffer the disgrace? Whether the world cursed her or cursed her sons, it was all the same, she was the one who would be held responsible for the indignity. The people would gossip that with four young sons around, the old woman lived separately and had to labour for her meals. Those whom she always considered below her status will laugh at her. No, such humiliation would be more heart-rending than this disregard. It was wiser to keep her own and her family honour under wraps. She would now have to adapt herself to new circumstances. Times had changed. So far she had been in command, but now she was compelled to live like a servant. This was the will of God. It would be better to suffer the jibes and blows of her own sons rather than those of outsiders.

She covered her face and wept over her wretched plight. The long night passed in this suffering. The winter dawn emerged from the darkness, full of trepidation, as if coming out of jail. Much against her habit, Phulmati got up very early that morning. It appeared as if she had undergone a mental metamorphosis during the course of the night. While the entire household slept, she began to sweep the courtyard. The ground hardened by the midnight frost stung her bare feet like thorns. Panditji would have never allowed her to wake up so early. The cold was very harmful for her. But those days were gone. She was trying to adjust herself to the times. Having done the sweeping, she lit some fire and began to pick pebbles off the rice and lentils. After some time, the sons woke up, but no one said to her, ‘Amma, why are you bothering yourself with all this work?’ They were probably happy that the proud spirit of the old woman was crushed.

From then onwards, Phulmati was determined to work with all her might, but with complete indifference. In place of the proud, self-confident expression on her face, there was deep anguish. In place of the bright electric light, there was a timorous lamp, which would be snuffed out with the slightest whiff of a gentle wind.

Finally, it was decided that a letter of refusal would be sent to Murarilal. The very next day, the letter was written. Kumud’s wedding was settled with Deendayal who, over forty years old, didn’t have much of a social standing, and barely earned his livelihood. He expressed no reservations and readily agreed to marry Kumud. The wedding day was fixed, the baraat came, the wedding ceremony took place and Kumud was sent off. Nobody knew how Phulmati felt. But all four brothers were happy as if a thorn had been removed from their flesh. As for Kumud, how could a high-born daughter open her mouth? She would either enjoy her life or live in sorrow, depending on what luck had in store for her. One is always helpless and has to submit to God’s will. If the family elders selected her life partner, he had to be looked up to with devotion, no matter what his failings may be. He was her lord. There was no question of resisting what had been allotted to her.

Phulmati did not intervene in anything, whether it concerned gifts for Kumud, or entertaining the guests, or the money or gifts received from the invitees—she was not concerned with anything. Even if someone came to take her advice, her response was, ‘Whatever you do is fair enough, my sons, why ask me?’

When the doli for Kumud arrived at the gate, she embraced her mother and started crying. Phulmati took her daughter to her room and whatever was left in her possession, hundred or fifty odd rupees and some jewels, she put all into her lap and said, ‘Beti, all my desires are smothered within me; or else you wouldn’t be married and be sent off in this way.’

Phulmati had never talked about her jewellery to anyone so far. She may not have realized how her sons had duped her but she knew she wouldn’t get her jewellery back. Speaking of it now would be of no avail, and would only breed rancour. However, she wanted to make things clear on this occasion. The thought that Kumud would go away with the impression that Amma had saved her jewellery for her bahus instead of giving it to her, would be unbearable to her. That was the reason she had taken Kumud to her room, but Kumud had already sensed the treachery played on her mother. She returned all the money and jewellery and put them at the feet of her mother and said, ‘Amma, your blessings are worth more than lakhs of rupees. Keep these trinkets with you. God knows how much adversity you may have to face yet.’

Phulmati was about to say something when Umanath came into the room and said, ‘What are you doing, Kumud? Come on, hurry up. It is getting late. The people are in a desperate hurry. Well, you will be back here in two or four months, then you can take whatever you may.’

Phulmati felt as if Umanath had rubbed salt on her injuries. Stung, she shot back, ‘What is there left with me that I will give her? Go, beti, may your husband have a long life.’

Kumud went away. Phulmati, struck with grief, collapsed on the ground. The last hope she had nurtured had extinguished.

6

One year passed.

Of all the rooms in the house, Phulmati’s room was the largest and well ventilated. She had vacated it for her eldest bahu for several months and was herself occupying a small room, living like a beggar. She was now without any attachment for her sons and their wives. Her position was that of a maid in the house. Nothing that passed in the house, neither any person nor any object was of any concern to her. She was living only because she had not yet died. She was unaffected by any joy or pain. Umanath opened his clinic. His friends had a grand party, with revelries and celebration. Dayanath opened his printing press. There was another party. Sitanath got a scholarship and went off to a foreign land. There were celebrations yet again. At the yagyopavita ceremony of Kamatanath’s eldest son, there was a big bash, but not a glimmer of happiness could be seen on Phulmati’s face. Kamatanath was bedridden with typhoid for a month and hardly survived. In order to garner more publicity for his newspaper, Dayanath wrote an objectionable article for which he was sentenced to six months’ imprisonment. Umanath took a bribe, filed a false report in a criminal case and his legal licence was seized, but there was not the slightest regret on Phulmati’s face. It was as if there was no hope, no interest, and no worries left in her life. Her life was limited to doing just two things: she worked mechanically like a beast, and took her food. An animal may be goaded to work, but it eats of its own accord. Phulmati worked without any stimulus but ate food as if she was nibbling at some poisonous crumbs. For months she did not bother to oil her hair, or wash her clothes, and just didn’t care. She was bereft of all sensations.

The Sawan rains came intermittently, spreading malaria. There were dark clouds in the sky and the earth flooded with muddy water. The humid air spread around, giving people cold, fever and asthma. The maid of the house fell sick. Phulmati, soaked to the skin in the rain, did all the work and cleaned all the pots and pans. Then she made a fire and put the pans on it. The boys must have their meals on time. Suddenly, she remembered that Kamatanath was not used to drinking tap water. She set out to fetch Gangajal though it was raining.

Kamatanath reclining on his bed saw her and said, ‘Forget it, Amma, I shall go and get the water. The maid and the Kahar are both absent today.’

Phulmati looked at the sky darkening with clouds and said, ‘Beta, you will get drenched and catch cold.’

‘But you, too, are wet. You may fall sick.’

Phulmati said nonchalantly, ‘I will not fall sick. God has made me immortal.’

Umanath was sitting close by. He was not earning much from his clinic, which constantly worried him. He looked towards his brother and the sister-in-law and remarked, ‘Let her go, bhaiya. She has lorded it over her bahus for a long time, let her do some atonement.’

The Ganga was swollen like an ocean. The horizon met the farthest shore. The riverside trees had only their tops trailing on the water and the ghats were completely submerged. Phulmati came down the steps carrying her pitcher. She filled water in it and as she was climbing the steps she slipped, couldn’t balance herself and fell into the water. For some time, she desperately thrashed her limbs and then she was sucked into the waves. A couple of pandas saw her and shouted, ‘Look, run, the old woman is drowning. Some ran to save her but Phulmati was drowned in the whirling, threatening waves that would make anyone’s heart quiver.

Someone asked, ‘Who was this old woman?’

‘Arré, she is Pandit Ayodhyanath’s widow.’

‘But Ayodhyanath was a big man.’

‘Yes, indeed he was, but she was doomed to be buffeted by misfortune.’

‘He has many sons who are quite well-off and have huge incomes.’

‘Yes, that is true, but after all, there is something known as destiny.’

Translated from the Hindi by Satish C. Aikant