God’s Share of Stale Rice

1

When Dinanath came home in the evening and told Gauri that he had secured a fifty-rupee job in an office, she blossomed with joy. Her faith in the gods grew stronger. The last year had been a bad one. There was no work to be had and no money. Whatever little jewellery she owned had been sold off. The rent for the house had been piling up. Any friends they could touch for a loan, they had borrowed from. Their year-old toddler cried out for milk. As soon as they ate one meal, they began to worry about the next one. Poor Dinanath was so assailed by demands that he could scarcely leave home. The moment he stepped out, pandemonium would break out on all sides: ‘Oh, wonderful, there you are! You said you’d return it in two days, and then we don’t see your face in two months. This is not fair, brother. You think of your own needs, but what of our needs? No wonder, it is said that you are better off giving a loan to an enemy rather than a friend!’ These words struck Dinanath like arrows, and he felt like killing himself. But he would look at his helpless wife and innocent child and he would hold his heart in check. At any rate, today God has taken pity upon him and his troubles are over.

Gauri beamed at him as she said, ‘Did I not say that God remembers everyone? That He would remember us too one day, but you did not have faith. Now tell me, are you not persuaded of the mercy of God?’

Dinanath asserted, ‘This is the outcome of my own labours. What has God done? I would have believed in God’s mercy if He had showered His bounty upon us.’

But whatever he may have said, within his heart he was beginning to have faith in God.

2

Dinanath’s master was a severe man and a very brisk worker. He was around fifty years old and not in the best of health, and yet he was the one who worked hardest in that office. Nobody dared to show up late by even a minute and nobody could leave the office a minute before time. They had a fifteen-minute break during the day, and they could choose whether they wanted to use the break to eat, or smoke a cigarette, or chew paan. Aside from this, they were not allowed even a minute’s break. They were paid on the first day of the month. On festive days, the office would be shut, and nobody was made to work beyond the stipulated hours. All the workers were entitled to a bonus and the facility of a provident fund. And yet, no man was happy. They did not mind the work or the strict punctuality imposed on them. They only complained of the master’s brusque behaviour. No matter how hard you worked, or whether you put your soul into the job, there was never a word of thanks to be had.

But though nobody else was content, Dinanath had no complaints about his master. He would listen to the rebuke and scolding, and go on working as hard as ever. Within a year, he had managed to clear his debts and even saved a little bit. He was one of those who could be content with a little, as long as this little came regularly. If they had to spend even one rupee on something special, the couple would spend hours discussing it, and they would agree only after much debate. If Gauri presented a bill, then Dinanath would oppose it. If Dinanath presented it, then Gauri would criticize it. For the bill to be passed, the presenter would have to argue forcefully. There was no third authority to certify the decision.

And now, Dinanath was a firm believer. He no longer had any doubts about the mercy or justice of God. He worshipped every evening and read the Gita regularly. One day, when one of his atheist friends began to criticize God, he said, ‘Brother, so far, no one has been able to ascertain whether or not God exists. Both sides offer steely arguments to prove their case; but in my view, it is better to be a believer than an atheist. If God is indeed almighty, then atheists will have nowhere to go except hell. The believer wins in either case. If God exists, then all for the best, and if He doesn’t exist, then not much is lost. You just spend a few minutes a day.’

His atheist friends would listen to his double-talk, purse their lips, and leave.

3

One evening, just as Dinanath was leaving the office, his master sent for him and, very civilly asking him to sit in a chair, he said, ‘How long have you been working here? It must be a year at least, is it not?’

Dinanath very politely said, ‘Yes, it is the thirteenth month.’

‘Sit comfortably. You must be going home and eating a snack at this time?’

‘No, I am not in the habit of snacking.’

‘But you must be eating paan at least? Such a young man and such great restraint!’

Saying this, he rang a bell, and asked the orderly to fetch paan and some sweets.

Dinanath was getting suspicious. Why am I being entertained in this fashion? The man who would not even return his salaam was now sending for paan and sweets. He is probably happy with my work. This thought gave him some confidence and also reminded him of God. Surely, the Almighty is all-seeing and just. Otherwise, why would anyone pay me any heed?’

The orderly brought sweets and paan. After much insisting, Dinanath was persuaded to eat the sweets.

The master smiled and said, ‘You must have found me very brusque. The thing is, around here, people are barely aware of their responsibilities. If the officer softens even slightly, people begin to take undue advantage of his good manners and the work suffers. Some are fortunate enough to be friendly with their staff, they can laugh and talk with them and yet the staff does not get spoilt. In fact, they work even harder. I do not have that skill, and so I maintain a distance from my men. And so far, this policy has not done me any disservice; but I keep observing the men and their behaviour to gauge their attitudes. I have come to the conclusion that you are a loyal worker and I can trust you. I want you to assume greater responsibilities so that you do not have to do a lot of the work yourself, you have to only supervise. Your salary will be raised by another fifty rupees. I am certain that you will work with even greater dedication than you have thus far.’

Dinanath’s eyes filled with tears and the sweets in his mouth were tinged with salt. He wanted to fall at his master’s feet and say, ‘I would give my life to serve you. I will surely rise to the honour that you have bestowed upon me.’ But his voice was shaking and he could only look on, eyes filled with gratitude.

The sethji brought out a fat ledger and said, ‘I want your help with a job upon which rests the future of this company. Of all the men, I have found only you trustworthy. And I hope you will not disappoint me. This is last year’s ledger, and certain amounts have been entered in here which suggest that the company has made a profit of several thousands. But as you know, for several months, we have been operating at a loss. Your handwriting is remarkably similar to that of the clerk who wrote this ledger. If both sets of handwriting were placed side by side, even an expert would find it hard to tell them apart. I want you to rewrite a page and replace it with the page of the same number in this ledger. I have had the same page number printed out. I have also hired a binder who will rebind the ledger overnight. Nobody will find out. All I need is that you use your pen to copy out that page.’

Dinanath raised a doubt, ‘If the page has to be replaced in any case, why does it have to be copied out?’

The sethji laughed. ‘What do you think, that page has to be copied exactly? I just need to change a few numbers. I assure you, I am doing this only for the welfare of this office. If this alteration is not made, it will endanger the livelihoods of a hundred men. There is nothing to think about. It will take half an hour. You write very fast.’

It was a difficult situation. It was clear that he was being asked to commit forgery. He had no way of determining whether the sethji was saying what he was saying for his own selfish reasons or whether he was protecting the office, but in any case, it was forgery—serious forgery. Could he kill his own soul? No, not under any circumstance.

Timidly, he said, ‘Forgive me, but I cannot do this.’

The sethji, his unfaltering smile in place, said, ‘Why?’

‘Because this is obvious forgery.’

‘What would you call forgery?’

‘To change the accounts is forgery.’

‘If this change could preserve the livelihoods of a hundred men, is it still a forgery? The company’s true situation is very different from its situation on paper; if this change is not wrought, thousands of rupees will have to be handed over as profits. As a result, the company will go bankrupt and all the men will be sitting at home, jobless. I don’t want to kill so many poor people for the sake of a few rich shareholders. If a little forgery is done for the larger good, then it does not amount to killing your soul.’

Dinanath could not think of an answer to this. If the sethji was telling the truth and this forgery could save the livelihoods of a hundred men, then it was really not a forgery; it was a solemn duty. Even if it did amount to killing the soul, he ought not to worry about it, for he would be saving a hundred men. But after finding a moral resolution, he considered his own security. He said, ‘But if this matter is found out, I will be destroyed. I will be sent away to Kaala Paani for fourteen years.’

The sethji guffawed. ‘If the matter is found out, you will not be caught out. I will be caught out. You can just deny it all.’

‘But my handwriting will be recognized.’

‘How can anyone know which page has been changed, the writing’s all the same.’

Dinanath was defeated. He began to copy out the page at once.

4

Thus, a thief was born inside Dinanath’s heart. He could not tell Gauri anything about this business.

A month later, he was promoted. He was getting a hundred rupees. He got another two hundred as a bonus.

He had all this, there were signs of prosperity in the house but Dinanath’s guilty heart felt burdened. He did not believe that he could convince Gauri by using the same arguments that the sethji had used to silence him.

His faith in God kept him in a constant state of fear. Some terrible punishment lay in store. No penance, no ministration could prevent it. It may not happen now; not a year or two from now, not even five or ten years later; but the later it came, the more awful it would be. The interest would be greater than the principal. He often felt regretful that he was won over by the sethji’s inducement. The office could stay or go, for all he cared; the men could keep their job or lose them, for all he cared. At least he would have been spared an anguished soul; but what was done was done, and the punishment was certain to come. His doubt had eaten away all the joy, enthusiasm, and sweetness in his life.

Malaria had been spreading. The child got a fever. Dinanath’s heart was in his mouth. His punishment had arrived. What should he do, where could he go, his mind would not function.

Gauri said, ‘Bring him some medicine, or take him to the doctor. It’s been three days already.’

Dinanath worriedly said, ‘Yes, I’ll go, but I’m very afraid.’

‘What is there to be afraid of? Nonsense. Who doesn’t get a fever these days?’

‘Why is God so cruel?’

‘God is cruel only to sinners. What have we ever taken from anyone?’

‘Does God never forgive sinners?’

‘If sinners are not punished, this world would be a disaster.’

‘But a man may do something which is a sin if you look at it from one perspective, but an act of virtue from another perspective.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Let’s say, I tell a lie in order to save someone’s life, is that an act of virtue?’

‘I think such a lie would be a virtue.’

‘So, a sin that leads to mankind’s welfare is an act of virtue?’

‘Of course, it is!’

Dinanath’s wretched doubt was silenced for a little while. He called the doctor and started the course of treatment. A week later, the boy was fine.

But a few days later, he himself fell sick. Surely, this was a divine punishment and he would not survive. It was an ordinary malarial fever but Dinanath’s punitive imagination managed to turn it into a delirium. A fevered mind, like an intoxicated one, turns hyper-imaginative. It had been only a doubtful fancy before, now it turned into an awful truth. His imagination conjured Yamdoot, complete with his spear and mace; it lit up the fires of hell. How could a spoonful of the doctor’s medicine combat the sound of a mace weighing a hundred maunds and the conflagration of a boiling sea of fire? Dinanath was not a superstitious man. He did not believe in the arcane abstractions of the Puranas. No, he was a rationalist and he started to believe in God only when his own reasoning persuaded him. But with God came His mercy and His vengeance. Mercy brought him his job and honour. If God had not taken pity upon him, he would have starved to death. But to starve was easier, it was child’s play compared to being tossed into the fires of hell. The punitive mindset, cultivated over several generations, had such deep roots in his psyche that it was a part of his intelligence, his soul. Great waves of logic and rationalism would come rushing at these aeons of hide-bound beliefs, but would do little more than drench them before retreating. That mountain would stand there, unmoved.

Life was not done with him, so he survived. As soon as he recovered his strength, he went back to work. One day Gauri said, ‘Those days when you were ill, one day your condition was critical, and I had promised God that if you get well, I’ll feed fifty Brahmins. The very next day, your condition improved. God heard my plea. If He had not been merciful, I would have been reduced to less than a beggar. Go to the market today and buy everything so that I can fulfil my vow. If we send out invitations to fifty, a hundred Brahmins are sure to come. Another fifty poor folk; add another twenty or twenty-five of our friends. That’s two hundred people. I’ll bring a list of ingredients.’

Dinanath scrunched up his forehead and said, ‘Do you think I got well because of God’s mercy?’

‘And how else did you get well?’

‘I got well because my life was not done.’

‘Don’t say such things. I must fulfil my vow.’

‘Never. I do not think that God is merciful.’

‘So, is He cruel then?’

‘There is none crueller. One who punishes the mistakes and idiocies of toys created by Himself by tossing them into hellfire, cannot be merciful. If He is merciful at all, still His cruelty is several times greater. I hate the very concept of such a God. Love is supposed to be the greatest power. Thinkers have held that love is the greatest glory of life, or the world. If not in our behaviour, at least in our ideals, love is the truth of our existence, but your God controls the universe through the fear of punishment. Then what is the difference between God and man? I cannot worship a God of that sort, I cannot. Those who are fat, for them God might be merciful, for they rob the world. People like us can never witness the mercy of God. But yes, the fear of God is with us at every step. Don’t do this, or God will punish you. Don’t do that, or God will punish you. To rule through love is humanity, to rule through terror is barbarity. It is better to not have God at all than to have a terrorist God. I want to toss him out of my heart and be free of both—His mercy and His fear. One awful punishment can destroy years of love. I constantly shower love upon you, but if one day I were to take up a stick and start thrashing you, you would not want to look at my face again. I do not want God’s favour in order to live such a fearful, terrorized life. There is no need to set aside God’s share when the rice is stale. If you insist on all this ritual feeding, I’ll consume some poison myself.’

Gauri’s fearful eyes remained fixed upon his face.

Translation from the Hindi by Annie Zaidi