The Cat

by Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay

Translated by Arunava Sinha

I sat dozing on the cot in the bedroom, holding my hookah. A dim light shone faintly—shadows danced on the wall like ghosts. The repast for the night was not prepared yet, and so I wondered with my eyes shut and the hookah in my grasp whether I could have been victorious in the Battle of Waterloo had I been Napoleon. Suddenly, a small sound. ’Miaow.’

I looked around, but failed to identify its source. My first thought was that the Duke of Wellington had acquired felinehood and appeared before me to beg for opium. My instinct was to be as hard-hearted as a rock and inform the duke that he had been rewarded adequately in the past and could not expect a bonus. Unlimited greed was not desirable. ’Miaow,’ said the duke.

Opening my eyes properly, I discovered it was not the duke but a tiny cat who had drained the bowl of milk Proshonno had deposited for my consumption. Busy as I was configuring my forces in the fields of Waterloo, I had not been attentive. And now this beauty among cats, in a bid to convey to the world the satisfaction reigning in her heart at having drunk unboiled milk, was saying in the sweetest of tones, ’Miaow.’ I cannot say, but perhaps there was a taunt in it; possibly the feline was laughing to herself and saying in her head, ’Some die fishing, some eat the fish.’ Maybe there was an attempt to fathom my own state of mind in that ’miaow’. It was possible that the cat wished to ask, ’What do you have to say now that I have drunk your milk?’ What did I have to say? I could not determine this. The milk was not my ancestral property. It had come from Mongola, who had been milked by Proshonno. Therefore the cat had the same right to the milk as I, I could not possibly be angry. But there is a time-honoured tradition of bodily assaulting a cat who has drunk up the milk and evicting them from the premises. I had no wish to ignore this abiding custom and be considered a disgrace amongst humans. For all I knew the feline might go back to her tribe and mock Kamalakanta as a coward. Therefore it was best to behave as men do. Having arrived at this conclusion, I lowered my hookah with great determination, located a broken stick after diligent investigation, and proudly pursued the cat.

The feline knew Kamalakanta well, and showed no symptoms of fear on viewing the stick. She only looked at me, yawned, and shifted, saying, ’Miaow.’ Interpreting the question correctly, I abandoned the stick, resumed my seat on the cot with my hookah, and, acquiring an all-hearing ear, deciphered the feline’s statement.

I realized she was saying, ’Why this attempt at physical assault? Sit down calmly with your hookah and apply your judgment. Why is it that your kind will consume all the milk and cream and curd and fish and flesh in this world while we get nothing? You are humans, we are cats; what is the difference? You experience hunger and thirst, do we not? You may eat, we have no objection, but all my enquiries have not led me to any scriptures which insist that you pursue us with the intention of beating us up whenever you find us eating food meant for you. It is time your race accepted some advice from me. If you wish to enhance your knowledge, I see no alternative to being educated by learned quadrupeds. Your educational institutions make me surmise you have finally become aware of this truth.

’Hark, o supine human. What does it mean to be religious? Altruism is the true religion. Drinking this milk has benefited me greatly. This act of philanthropy on your part was accomplished by virtue of the milk that you had acquired, hence you shall bear the fruits of this religious act. Whether I have indulged in theft or not, I am the primary reason for your bank of piety. Do not persecute me, therefore, but praise me. I am the prop to your religiousness.

’It is true I am a thief, but do you think I chose to be one? Who resorts to stealing if food is available? Listen to me, those renowned holy men who tremble at even the sound of the word “theft” are in truth even more unholy than thieves. The only reason they do not steal is that they have no need to. But because they do not cast a sympathetic glance towards the thief despite being in possession of more wealth than they can make use of, the thief is compelled to steal. The sin is not the thief’s, it is the parsimonious wealthy man’s. The thief may be guilty, but the miserly rich is a hundred times guiltier. The thief is punished, but the root cause of his crime, the penny-pinching wealthy man, goes scot-free.

’Look at me. I skulk on walls, mewling, but no one deigns to throw out even a fishbone for me. They will toss the remnants of the fish and the uneaten rice into the drain, but will not leave it out for me. Your kind eats your fill, what do you know of my hunger? Will you be robbed of your glory if you feel compassion for the poverty-stricken? No doubt it is a matter of shame to be agonised by the pain of a poor creature like me. Even a man who has never offered alms to the blind can be a king. He spends sleepless nights when in trouble, and you are willing to be pained by his suffering. But sympathy for the lowlife? For shame, who will feel such a thing?

’If a renowned scholar or learned man were to have drunk this milk, would you have chased him with a stick? Au contraire, you would have bowed to him in reverence and enquired if he would like some more. Why the stick when it comes to me? You will say, they are respected individuals, great pundits. Does that make them more ravenous than me? That is not the case, but no one amongst you who offer additional butter to the well-oiled rich will ever know suffering and poverty. Banquets are arranged for those who are irked when offered meals, but those who eat your food uninvited are pronounced thieves and sentenced. For shame!

’Look at our condition, mewling about on walls, in yards, outside mansions, casting our eyes in every direction, and still no one throws even a morsel to us. Only if one of us can become the object of your love and live as a housecat—the sister of a young wife of an aged husband or a substitute for a foolish rich man’s chess partner—can she expect nutrition. She will have a fluffy tail and luxuriant fur, and the brilliance of her beauty will turn many a feline into a poet.

’But look at us. Our bellies are sunken for lack of food, our ribs are visible, our tails are lowered, out teeth are exposed, our tongues hang out, we constantly wail, "Miaow, miaow, we have not eaten." Do not hate us for our dark skins. We too have some rights to fish and flesh in this world. If you do not give us food, we shall steal. Do you not feel any sympathy for our blackened skins, our withered faces, our faint and pathetic mewling? Thieves are punished, why does cruelty escape punishment? The poor are castigated for collecting food, why are the rich not punished for refusing them food? You, Kamalakanta, are far-sighted, for you are an opium-addict—can you not see that it is the wealthy who are responsible for turning the impoverished into thieves? Why should a single person deprive five hundred souls and hoard the food they could have eaten? And if he does, why will he not give what is left over to the poor? If he does not, the poor will certainly steal from him. For no one has been born on earth to die of starvation.’

I could tolerate this no longer. ’Stop, feline pundit. What you are saying is socialism. The root of chaos in society. If an individual can amass as much wealth as he is capable of amassing, and if he cannot enjoy this wealth with complete immunity from thievery, no one will engage themselves in amassing wealth anymore. Thus society will not see its wealth grow.’

’What do I care if it does not?’ said the cat. ’The growth of society’s wealth amounts to the growth of rich men’s wealth. How will the poor suffer if the wealthy do not become wealthier?’

’Society cannot improve unless its collective wealth increases,’ I explained to the cat. Angrily, she said, ’What do I care about the improvement of society if I do not have enough to eat?’

It proved difficult to convince the cat. No judge or logician can ever be convinced of anything. This feline was a wise judge and a fine debater as well, therefore she had the right not to be convinced. And so, instead of growing enraged with her, I said, ’The poor may not be important for improvement in society, but the wealthy certainly are, therefore thieves must be punished.’

Mistress cat said, ’Hang the thief by all means, I have no objection, but institute another law. The judge who sentences the thief must fast for three days before that. If he feels no desire to steal food in this period, he may award the death sentence without hesitation. You had brought out your stick to thrash me, you can try fasting for three days. If in that time you are not caught red-handed in the larder, you may beat me to a pulp, I shall not come in your way.’

Learned people are in the habit of dispensing advice when they are defeated in debate. Following this tradition, I told the feline, ’This is unethical talk, even thinking in this manner is sinful. Abandon these anxieties and concentrate on piety. I can send you Newman & Parker’s book if you wish to peruse it. Reading The Kamalakanta Papers may be of benefit too—if not anything else, you will realise the value of opium. It is time to for you to return to your own residence now. Proshonno has promised some delicious milk cake tomorrow, if you are here at the right time, we shall share it. Do not steal food from anyone else today; if you are overcome by hunger, come back to me, I shall give you some opium.’

’I have no particular requirement for opium, but as for stealing food elsewhere, that will depend on the extent of my hunger.’

From Kamalakanter Doptor, Bankimchandra Chatterjee, published in 1875.