Renunciation

In Gorakhpur Railways, there was no one as righteous and God-fearing as Pandit Bajrang Nath. He was a man of great learning, enlightened thoughts and a simple temperament. All his seniors and juniors in the office were happy with him.

On the first day of May, in the month of Baisakh, Panditji received his salary of eighty rupees. When he returned home, he placed it in the hands of his wife, Vindhyeshwari. Like her husband, she too was an icon of compassion and love. After giving him a glass of water, she said, ‘Ten rupees will go towards rent and we have to send thirty rupees home.’

Bajrang added, ‘Yes, and ten rupees for the two children at the gurukul.’

Two children from his neighbourhood were studying at the gurukul ashram, for which Panditji had promised to make a monthly contribution of ten rupees.

‘Yes. What else?’ Vindhyeshwari tried to remember other expenses. ‘We should also give at least five rupees to the Brahmin who had requested help for his daughter’s wedding.’

Bajrang agreed and said, ‘Right, right! I had completely forgotten about him. Two rupees for contribution to the gaushala too.’

Vindhyeshwari continued, ‘And there will be two rupees for the girls’ school too.’

Bajrang said, ‘That accounts for all the money. How will we manage the pilgrimage to Badrinath?’

Vindhyeshwari suggested, ‘Set aside ten rupees from this only. If we save the same amount every month, we’ll have a hundred rupees in a year. Will that not be enough for the pilgrimage to Badrinath?’

Making some calculations, Bajrang said, ‘If I credit ten rupees to this head, what will be left for the monthly expenses? Only eleven rupees.’

‘That is enough for food.’

‘I can see your sari. It’s starting to tatter.’

Vindhyeshwari dismissed the concern and said, ‘Will do for this month. If possible, I’ll buy one next month.’

‘We should send only twenty rupees home and hire a maid here.’

Once again, Vindhyeshwari was dismissive. ‘No, no, what’s the need for a maid? How many plates do two people use anyway!’

Every month, this is how Panditji’s salary was spent. Only after deliberating for months was it possible to get a new sari, but still both were happy with their circumstances and money held no allure for them. However, the couple were bereft of a child and were restless for a son. They had always nurtured the desire for a son. One would be enough. This was the only lack in their realm of peace and happiness.

Ten years passed by. Pandit Bajrang Nath’s salary grew from eighty to hundred and fifty. The monthly expenses grew accordingly but did not exceed twenty-five rupees even now. And that too only because times had changed and the material necessities of life had become expensive. Vindhyeshwari had not yet hired help for washing the dishes, but everything else had been accomplished. Yet, their desire for a child was still unfulfilled. They were still alone. Earlier, this desire was somehow veiled by their faith in religion and they were reminded of it only occasionally, but nowadays, Vindhyeshwari especially, keenly felt the sadness and misfortune of her empty womb. Their religious devotion, which was earlier only temperamental and without any avarice, was now turning greedy. Now they desired their good deeds to bear fruits. They would often discuss, ‘How can God be just when he fulfils all the desires of selfish and decadent people but does not answer even a small prayer from us? This only is the destiny of a devotee. No reward even after a lifetime of devotion. Even the decadents are better than us, but maybe this is God’s will, otherwise would we not have even a little of His grace? All that a man must achieve in his life is readily available to devotees, though we have got nothing. And what to speak of our salvation? If such a trivial wish has not been granted, how can we speak of salvation?’

Pandit Bajrang Nath would explain to his wife, ‘Who can know God’s will? What if our deliverance lies in not having a child? Whenever His beneficence comes, we will get all of it—faith, child, wealth, salvation. The only duty of a devotee is to offer all that he has at the Lord’s feet. Without intelligence, can we ever know what is good for us and what not?’ Though Vindhyeshwari would fall silent upon hearing this sermon, her heart was not satisfied and even Panditji could not say these things with a clear conscience. Even his heart would become restless for want of a son but he did not want to express his pain openly.

A trader of the bania caste lived in Panditji’s neighbourhood. The houses even shared a wall, in which the bania had carved out a window. Sometimes the two women would chat through the window. The bania’s wife, the baniayin, had many children. The bania was a moneylender and also ran a cloth shop. Both extracted excessive and exacting interest rates. The baniayin herself had loaned some money and charged an interest of one anna per rupee. Only a rare fortunate beggar could ever get alms from them, otherwise their standard retort was something like that they were busy and the beggar should come some other time. The beggars would curse and leave. Because of the shared wall, the conversations in the bania’s house could sometimes be heard on the other side too, particularly because the bania’s wife spoke very loudly.

One night, when Vindhyeshwari was lying in the courtyard after they had had dinner and Panditji was reading the newspaper, the bania returned home after having shut his shop for the day. His wife asked, ‘How were the sales today?’

The bania replied, ‘Kept swatting flies all day. There was not even a single sale.’

The baniayin lamented, ‘I wonder whose cursed face did I see the first thing in the morning that here too mistakenly I overturned a pot of oil. All the oil was spoilt.’

The husband inquired, ‘Did you see the face of the pandit’s wife?’

‘Haan, now I remember. I peeped through the window right after waking up and caught sight of her taking a bath.’

‘I too saw the pandit’s face. When I was leaving for my bath, I saw him brushing his teeth.’

The baniayin came up with a solution. ‘From now on, I won’t open the window until the day is well advanced.’

The nocturnal silence is usually deeper than when it is quiet otherwise. Whether this was the cause or the two deliberately talked loudly to allow the Brahmins to hear them, it cannot be said with certainty. Yet, what was clear was that the conversation could be heard clearly and they heard it. Vindhyeshwari looked at her husband with sorrowful eyes and then lowered her head. Panditji let out a cold sigh and putting the newspaper aside, began staring at the sky. His devotion and faith had never been tested so grimly.

After some time, Vindhyeshwari said, ‘We should look for another house.’

Bajrang Nath said, ‘Haan, tomorrow.’

They moved to another house the very next day. But the hurt caused by the Bania’s words could not be assuaged. The fire in the heart that had been smouldering under the surface so far, now burst out vigorously, and its flames were now scalding the high traditional values on which they had founded their lives. They were losing faith in religion, devotion and righteousness. A religious life now appeared only a sham to them.

It was evening. Placing the hundred and fifty rupees of his monthly salary in the hands of his wife, Pandit Bajrang Nath said, ‘It’s not late yet. Let me go for a stroll and on the way I will pay the five rupees to the gaushala, and the donation to the school too.’

Putting away the money in a box, Vindhyeshwari replied, ‘I won’t give any money to anybody now. What’s the point? Are we strangers to the indulgence of dress and dine that other people are used to? Just send thirty rupees home, the rest will be for our household expenses. Tomorrow, you must look for and hire a Kahar, a palanquin-bearer. We have spent half our lifetime in these austerities and yet we haven’t had any reward. We would have been happier if we had filled our bellies and dressed our bodies. Why should we stake our lives for others? The world belongs to God and He anyway takes care of it. Why should we suppress our desires?’

Laughing, Bajrang replied, ‘Come on. Let me go and make the donations. People will talk if I don’t.’

Vindhyeshwari refused to budge. ‘If the world isn’t scared of what others say, why should we be? Some get all the pleasures while we get none!’

The same thought had sprouted in Bajrang’s mind too. Nevertheless, he tried once more to pacify her, failing which he went out with two rupees to purchase hybrid mangoes.

That day onwards, the two served only themselves. Their food turned grand and the clothing beautiful. A hundred rupees are anyway not too much. All of it was spent on luxuries like dining and dressing. Earlier, their charity was fed by their frugality. Once they became indulgent, even the entire month’s salary was not enough.

Strange are the ways of God. Merely one year after the change in their lifestyle, Vindhyeshwari gave birth to a boy. There was music and joyous celebration and preparations for a grand feast.

After twelve days, came the occasion of the boy’s barahi. The domni women were singing inside and Panditji’s friends were assembled in the courtyard. Relatives and acquaintances were invited and a tent was erected, where a high-pitched malhar was being sung. On another side, a feast was being prepared. Seeing this joyous celebration, Vindhyeshwari was beside herself with happiness. She would repeatedly look at the newborn’s face and kiss him and beam with joy and tell him, ‘My son! You have made me proud. Now who can have the audacity to taunt me?’ The Bania, who had used painful and abusive words for Vindhyeshwari, had also been invited. The baniayin sat disinterestedly, and Vindhyeshwari’s mother-in-law who had come prepared for the celebrations was repeatedly taunting her. Vindhyeshwari was waiting impatiently for the celebrations to conclude—so that the father could see the child for the first time—thinking that the father’s eyes would light up and he would swell with pride when he would pick up the baby in his arms.

It was eleven at night. The gathering had dispersed and the guests had left. The servants and helpers now got their turn at savouring the food after finishing all the chores. Bajrang was getting impatient to see the boy. He came inside the house after bidding farewell to the guests. Vindhyeshwari was ready after having had a bath and her face beamed like a freshly blooming lotus. The moment Bajrang entered the house, she said smilingly, ‘Congratulations for the child!’ and put the baby into the father’s lap. All the riches of the world would not have made him this happy. What a captivating picture! So enchanting as if it was painted by the gods themselves! His eyes brightened as he looked at the pleasing countenance of the child. His breast swelled with pride and emotion as he embraced him.

Vindhyeshwari demanded, ‘I will surely take a big gift from you.’

‘May God bless the child with a long life. Let this be my dearest gift to you.’

Talking this way, both fell asleep. The day had been tiring and but after a short while Bajrang Nath was startled out of sleep by a dream in which some holy man stood by the boy and was saying, ‘So finally your wish has been fulfilled, but this is the fruit of your greed and you are so happy about it! The fruit of devotion to God is much sweeter than this. You have exchanged gold for iron.’ After saying this, the holy man vanished.

The quietness of the night was spread all around. The lamp was still lit and the boy was sleeping as if he himself was the glowing flame of someone’s heart, though the words from the dream were still echoing in Bajrang Nath’s ears. Looking at the boy’s face, he said to himself, ‘Is it possible that there is something greater than this? Now I know. If the fruit of greed is this pleasant, surely the reward for devotion to God must be greater.’

He immediately walked out of the house. He looked at the child with extreme anguish and then strode towards the forest. Nobody ever heard from him again.

Translated from the Urdu by Vikas Jain