Intoxication - A Tale by Munshi Premchand

I was the son of a poor clerk who had no income other than his salary.  I had Ishwari for my friend.  He happened to be the son of a very wealthy landlord.  We often had heated debates in which I dubbed landlords as leeches, predators and people living off the fat of the land.  Ishwari naturally defended landlords though his arguments were seldom as weighty as mine and for obvious reasons.  The only arguments that he could muster was that not all men are born equal and that it has always been this way.  These could hardly bear the onslaught of moral and humanistic principles invoked by me.  However it must be said to Iswari's credit that unlike me he never lost his cool and kept smiling through the debate.  May be he understood that he was trying to defend something that was not entirely defensible.

Though, Ishwari was always harsh upon his servants and attendants.  He had his fair share of the arrogance and haughtiness that characterized his class.  He was quick to lose his temper if he found his bed was not made well enough, or his milk was not warmed just right for him, or his bicycle was not sparkling clean.  He would not put up with any laziness or lack of courtesy in his servants.  But he was friendly and polite in the extreme with his friends, especially me.  I often wondered if I would be just as harsh to the less privileged if I were in the place of Ishwari.  And I suspected that perhaps I would have been even more so as my love for the lowly was based not so much on principles as the fact that my own place in the society was closer to them.  I also suspected that Ishwari would be an aristocrat even if he were in my place  because that was his innate nature.

The festival of Dashahara was close at hand.  I had made up my mind not to visit my family.  I didn't have enough money to pay for the fare and I didn't want to ask them for more money.  I knew well enough that they were already spending beyond their means on my education.  Also I had to catch up on my studies and that would have taken a back seat at home.  At the same time staying in the boarding house almost alone was not a very welcome prospect.  So when Ishwari invited me to accompany him to his home for the festival, it didn't take much persuasion.  I readily agreed.  Ishwari was an intelligent and hardworking student too.  I told myself that it will be better to study together with Ishwari.

Ishwari was happy when I accepted the invitation.  He was also prudent enough to tell me, "Please take care not to criticize the zamindars (landed aristocracy.)  Not only will my family feel bad, it might be quite disruptive.  You see the servants and peasants are made to believe that they are duty bound to serve us and it is our divine right to be the recipient of their labors.  No one would put up with you giving them ideas to the contrary."

I countered, "You don't expect me to turn into a different person, do you?"

He just said, "I do hope so," and let the matter rest at that.

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This was the first time I would be travelling second class.  I had no experience of travelling even in the inter class, let alone second.  We both were excited about the vacations and the journey and reached the railway station quite early in the evening.  We roamed around for some time and then went to the refreshment room for our dinner.  The waiters were quick to figure out who was the boss and it showed in the deferential treatment meted out by them to Ishwari while nearly ignoring me.  Even though Ishwari was paying for the dinner, I felt bad about it.  I expected them to be just as prompt and courteous in serving me as they were towards Ishwari.  My expectations were belied and this left a bad taste in my mouth: I hardly enjoyed my dinner.  Ishwari paid the bill and left a tip of half of a rupee.  It occurred to me that the waiters must be earning more in tips than the whole salary of my father.  Yet, their attitude towards me kept bothering me.

As we were leaving for boarding the train, the waiters saluted Ishwari and bid him goodbye paying scant attention to me.

Ishwari observed, "Look at these fellows:  How well mannered and cultured they are!  This is very unlike our servants back home."

I said dryly, "Perhaps they too would be just as well mannered if you gave them a tip of half a rupee every day."

Ishwari said, "I do not think it is just a matter of earning tips."

I responded sarcastically, "Of course not, it must in their DNA!!"

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The train, a mail train, left Prayag station.  It next stopped at Pratapgarh.  A passenger opened the door of our coach.  I immediately shouted, "This is second class; not the general compartment."  The passenger entered the coach, cast a strange look at me and said, "Yes, sir! I know that much."  He sat down on the berth opposite ours. I felt very embarrassed at my behavior.  I didn't know what had come upon me.

We reached Moradabad early in the morning.  There was a whole team at the platform waiting to welcome us.  It comprised of two gentlemen and five servants.  The servants picked up our luggage.  The two gentlemen were in tow behind us.  As I learnt later, one of them was a Muslim, Riyasat Ali, and the other was a Brahmin, Ramharakh.  They were munshis or supervisors.  They looked at me in a manner that seemed to underscore my inferior status.

Riyasat Ali asked Ishwari, "Is this young gentleman your classmate?"

Ishwari replied, "Yes, my classmate and my roommate too.  It is because of him that I am staying on at Allahabad.  But for him I would have returned to Lucknow long time ago.  This time I managed to persuade him to accompany me home.  There were several telegrams from his own home asking him to spend the vacations with his family, but to no avail.  The last telegram was an urgent one costing a quarter of a rupee per word!  He said no to even that."

The two gentlemen tried their best to look suitably impressed.  Riyasat Ali again spoke in an uncertain tone, "For a person of his stature, he dresses too simply!"

Ishwari said, hoping to put all his doubts at rest, "He is a follower of Mahatma Gandhi.  He will wear nothing but khadi.  He made a bonfire of all his fancy clothes.  He is a true aristocrat and has an annual income of two and a half lakhs from his estate.  And yet he looks like an inmate who has just walked out of an orphanage!"

Ramharakh said, "You are right.  One could hardly guess his stature by looking at him.  There are few gentlemen who could match his simplicity."

Riyasat Ali corroborated, "He reminds me of the nawab of Changli.  He always wore a mere khadi jacket and a pair of the cheapest variety of shoes.  Once, as he was roaming around on his own, the authorities mistook him for a labor and dragged him to work on a college building.  The story has it that he donated ten lakh rupees for construction of the college."

Though I was embarrassed, I did nothing to counter the white lies that Ishwari had spun about me and and that were being corroborated by the two gentlemen.  Perhaps I was persuaded into believing in those lies myself.

When we emerged from the station, there were two well groomed horses with elegant saddles on them waiting for us.  Though I had mounted mules a couple of times as a child, I had not experience of horse riding whatsoever.  I was terrified as I mounted the horse.  I tried my best not to let the fear show.  Ishwari was ahead of me and he made his horse go really slow.  Perhaps he had sensed the fear in me.

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Ishwari's house was almost like a fort!  The main gate at the entrance was huge.  It was as big as the one I had seen at the Imambara.  There was a guard at the gate, and an elephant just beyond it.  Inside the house there was a whole army of servants.  Ishwari introduced me to his father, uncles and cousins.  He spun the same yarn before them as he had done before the two gentlemen at the station.  And he did it so convincingly that it left no doubts in anyone's mind.  Everybody in the house and the servants became extremely deferential towards me.  In their eyes I was a baron with my income running into lakhs of rupees, and yet I had no airs about me.  I was considerate to everyone.  Many of them started addressing me as Sir.

A couple of hours later when Ishwari and I were all by ourselves, I said to Ishwari, "Please stop this mischief.  You are embarrassing me no ends."

Ishwari smiled and said, "But for this mischief the idiots around here would not condescend to accept you as my friend and my equal."

After a short while a servant entered the room.  He was there to massage our legs as per the custom.  After all we had undertaken an arduous journey to reach home. As he moved towards Ishwari, Ishwari motioned towards me, "Sir first."

I was lying in the bed.  No one had ever massaged my legs, never.  I always termed this practice as inhumane, idiotic and a mark of a decadent life of excessive money and no sense of shame.  And now I was indulging in it myself and enjoying it to the hilt!

It was ten o'clock now.  Another servant appeared with a message that lunch was ready.  Both of us went for a bath.  I used to wash my own dhoti and undergarments after bath.  But today I left them behind, like Ishwari, to be washed by a servant.  Somehow it felt awkward to wash my own clothes.

In the villages it is customary to wash your feet before you get down to lunch.  A servant was waiting at the entrance with a pot of water.  Ishwari stepped in front of him and the servant washed his feet.  I imitated Ishwari.  All my ideals of equality of human beings and the like failed to deter me.

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All my plans to study hard with Ishwari got a short shrift.  I was having the time of my life.  Ishwari and I would go for walks, boating, fishing and hunting.  Sometimes we would watch wrestling matches or play chess.  Ishwari used to have omelettes for snacks and I loved it too.  We were literally surrounded by servants all the time.  There was one to give me a bath, another to wash my clothes, and yet another to fan me as I relaxed.  I was known and respected as the prince disciple of Gandhi.  Everyone was extra careful with me.  My breakfast and snacks were always ready at the right time, my bed must be made for me well before it was time for me to retire.  Even Ishwari could wait or make his own bed, but not me - the simple minded prince!  It would be an insult to the prince.

One day Ishwari stayed back in his mother's room talking to her.  It was past ten in the night.  I was feeling very sleepy.  But no one had made my bed!  Making my own bed was just out of the question.  It was half past eleven when one of the servants turned up.  He apologized for the delay and said that he was very busy in the kitchen and elsewhere.  He cringed as I started shouting at him.  Ishwari must have heard me shouting.  He entered the room and took stock of the situation.  He then said, "Good that you gave him a piece of your mind.  These lazybones deserve it."

A few days later I was sitting alone in my room.  Ishwari had gone to attend some ceremony in the village.  Dusk had fallen but there was nobody around to light the lamp.  The lamp was sitting on the table with a matchbox next to it.  But then how could I, the prince, light it myself?  Ishwari didn't ever do that.  I wanted to read the newspaper but it was too dark for that.  I could feel the anger simmering within me.  As luck would have it, Riyasat Ali happened to pass by my room.  I called him in and gave him a sharp rebuke.  I shouted, "It is dark and nobody cares to light the lamp in my room.  Not even you.  If you were working for me you would have got the boot within an hour.  I wonder how Ishwari puts up with useless fellows like you."  Riyasat Ali was taken aback.  He lit the lamp with trembling hands and silently walked away.

A thakur (one belonging to the Kshatriya caste) from the village used to visit me often.  He didn't look like a very responsible person but considered himself to be a disciple of Gandhiji.  One day he walked into my room as I was sitting alone.  He paid his respects and asked with folded hands, "Sir, you are a disciple of Gandhiji, aren't you?  People say when he gets us independence there will be no landlords around."

I said with pride in my voice, "And why do people need landlords?  They are merely parasites who exploit the poor."

Thakur pressed on, "Sir, then, will the government confiscate all the land held by the landlords?"

I responded, "I am sure that most of the landlords will voluntarily surrender their holdings.  Those who don't will suffer confiscation.  Personally, I am in full readiness to transfer my land to my tenants soon after independence."

Thakur sat down on the floor and started massaging my legs.  He said, "Sir, not all landlords are like you.  Some are real tyrants.  I would forever be obliged to you if you could give me a piece of your land.  I will be happy to serve you as long as I live."

I said, "I am still a student and don't have much say in property matters.  But soon I will.  And then I wouldn't forget to send for you.  I will teach you driving and appoint you my driver."

I came to know later that on that day the thakur got high on several glasses of 'bhaang,' gave his wife a good thrashing and challenged the village moneylender to a fight.

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The vacation finally came to an end.  Many people accompanied us to the station to see us off.  I played my role of the simple minded and kindhearted gentleman to the hilt and was rewarded with awed expressions on the face of the villagers.  I wanted to tip all the servants heavily but then didn't have the money for it.  Thakur even came to the platform and kept close to me all the time.

When the train arrived it was overflowing with passengers.  It was difficult even to gain an entry in the second class.  Inter class was even worse.  With great difficulty we could enter a third class compartment.  There was no other option.  The vacations were over and this was the last train of the day.  People instinctively made room for us and we got to squeeze in on a berth.  But it was very cramped and uncomfortable.  We could hardly move.

Some of the passengers were literate and quite knowledgeable.  They were talking about wonderful governance by and the justice system of the British rulers.  One of them said, "This is really unheard of - the equality before law.  And the system of justice does really treat the mighty and the meek equally.  Even if the king does a wrong, he cannot escape justice."

Another person said in agreement, "Yes I have heard of decrees against the king himself."

I was sitting close to the door of the compartment.  A passenger was carrying a huge bundle on his back and was on his way to Kolkata.  There was no place where he could keep the bundle.  The weight of the bundle made him restless and he kept coming back to the door.  He will stand there with his back to me and the bundle will rub into my face.  I was feeling suffocated.  Suddenly I lost all control and I slapped the man several times and pushed him away."

The man glared at me and said, "How dare you hit me?  I too have a valid ticket for the journey."

I countered by slapping him a few more times.

Suddenly all the passengers in the compartment turned against me.  Some called me names.  Someone said, "If you are so delicate, you should travel first class!"  Another person added, "Never mind if he is a moneyed person.  Had he done this to me, I would have paid him back with interest."

Yet another person said, "And what exactly was the poor fellow's fault?  The compartment is packed like a tin of sardines.  One can hardly breathe.  He moved to the door to get some fresh air.  Isn't he too a human being?  Must a rich man be so inconsiderate towards a fellow human being, rich or poor?"

"Is this the justice in the British reign that you were talking about?"

A villager said with scorn, "He may be playing haughty here, but I am sure he will not be able to set foot inside a British Officers' office."

Ishwari mumbled to me in English, "What an idiot you are, Sir!"

It felt like my intoxication with my assumed personality was finally wearing off.

A Gentleman's Punishment - A Tale by Munshi Premchand

Like most of us, Sardar Shivsingh, District Engineer of Shahjahanpur, had his share of both good and the bad.  According to his subordinates the good thing about him was that he was compassionate even towards the guilty and believed that justice need not be harsh.  The bad thing, from the viewpoint of his colleagues and subordinates, was that he was neither greedy nor selfish.  His compassion, even for the guilty, had rendered his subordinates lazy and they had little apprehension of any action against them.  And what they and Sardar's colleagues detested about him,  had turned them into Sardar's mortal enemies.

One fine morning Sardar got ready to leave for inspecting a bridge that was under construction.  He had instructed his coach driver last evening to report for duty early in the morning but he hadn't turned up yet.  The sun came up and rose high in the sky and made the cool breeze of the morning hot.  However it seemed that all this had failed to pull the driver out of his slumber.

Sardar got tired of waiting and let himself down in a chair.  At long last, the coach driver did show up but now the orderlies went missing.  One that had been sent out to collect the mail was busy offering a prayer in a temple.  The other, who was to deliver a message to the contractor to come and accompany the officer, was smoking marijuana with a local sadhu, Baba Ramdas.

It was getting very late and hot.  Sardar, annoyed and tired of waiting, got up and went inside the bungalow.  He spoke to his wife in an irrirated voice, "It is so very late but even one of the orderlies is not to be seen.  I am truly fed up with them."

His wife looked blankly at the wall and replied, "They have been spoilt by none other than you yourself!"

Sardar said with much annoyance, "So? Do you want me to hang them?"

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Sardar did not have a car, nor even a fitan (a fancy horse drawn carriage.)  All he had for transportation was an "ikka," a plain carriage drawn by a single horse and lacking all ornamentation.  His staff  called it his flying craft while others in the city very unkindly called it a junk cart.  Sardar was very thrifty indeed.  His dependents included two younger brothers studying at Allahabad, his widowed mother living in his native village as also his widowed sister.  He provided scholarships to some poor students too.  This put him in dire straits financially.  And yet, he never succumbed to any temptation to accept bribes.  His friends and loved ones admired him for it.  However, the same trait was sorely detested by those who were in a business relationship with him for it came in the way of their making money.  Even his wife was at times miffed by his overly honest ways.

One evening when Sardar returned from his office, his wife had a talk with him.  She said in a loving tone, "What use is all your honesty?  No one ever has a good word for you."

Sardar replied in a firm voice, "I couldn't care less.  The God above sees all."

His wife, Rama, had anticipated this response.  She said, "Let us not get into a debate.  You, of course, get a reasonably good salary and can make do without going for any extra income.  Just think how does your approach affect those around you.  Your orderlies, peons and clerks get no more than 5 to 10 rupees a month.  They too have families, social obligations and all the usual expenses.  Their children too have to be married, there are occasional medical expenses too.  How can they manage all this with their meager salary?  The other day the wife of Ramdeen, your peon, was here.  She was crying bitterly.  Her daughter is to be married.  Ramdeen is a brahmin.  In their caste expenses on a girl's marriage run into thousands.  Tell me, who is going to be responsible for their misery?"

Sardar himself used to ponder over these matters and didn't totally disagree with his wife.  In fact this was the reason for his leniency towards his subordinates.  However his leniency and gentlemanly approach was never accepted by the subordinates as compensation enough for the underhand dealings denied to them.

Sardar said, "I do not disagree with you.  But I just cannot compromise on my principles.  If it were up to me, I would give all of them a hefty raise.  But as regards bribery, I will neither engage in it myself nor allow my subordinates to do so."

Rama repeated her question with sarcasm, "Then, again, who will take responsibility for their misery?"

Sardar said irritably, "The responsibility squarely lies with those who choose to live beyond their means.  Why should an orderly aspire to have a lawyer as his son-in-law?  If a peon chooses to employ a household help, it is almost a sin.  It is the height of folly if a stableman's wife aspires for heavy silver jewelry.  How can another person be responsible for their ostentation?"

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The relationship between engineers and contractors is like that between honeybees and flowers.  If the bees are content with what is their fair share, no one can have any complaint against them.  This sweet nectar that rightfully belongs to them is called 'commission' in the parlance of public works.  It is not bribe.  Bribe is bad and it mars your life in this world as well as the next.  Bribe is immoral and there is always a fear of punishment lurking in the mind of those who indulge in it.  But 'commission' is as natural and beautiful as a garden.  And it is accepted as such by others, the God himself and your own conscience.  It doesn't tar your reputation.  It is like a sacrifice that is a sacred religious act and not a murder.  Despite such societal acceptance, Sardar never approved of 'commission' and steered clear of it.  He could be pardoned for such stubbornness.

The month of March was coming to an end.  An inspection of public works in the district by the Chief Engineer was imminent.  But most projects were still incomplete.  The roads were in bad shape.  The contractors were yet to procure requisite material for repairing them.  Sardar's repeated reminders to the contractors bore little fruit.

He summoned a meeting of all the contractors.  He thus addressed them, "Do you want me to be dubbed a non-performer in this district?  I have always been nice to you.  I could have got all work done departmentally instead of awarding contracts to you all.  I did not do so because I did not want to hurt your interests.  And this is what I get in return!  Well, well!!"

As the contractors emerged from the meeting room, they started talking amongst themselves.  Mr. Gopaldas said, "I hope the Chief Engineer's visit will make this fellow more alive to the reality."

Shahbaz Khan said, "He is impossible.  I am simply waiting for his funeral."

Seth Chunnilal added, "I know this Chief Engineer well.  He is going to take Sardar to task."

Old Haridas said in a sage voice, "It is true that our business interests are affected.  But for that I would consider Sardar to be a godly man.  Look at us.  We hold on to the last paisa by the skin of our teeth.  But Sardar, who is financially stretched, doesn't even touch 'commission' income that would easily work out to ten thousand rupees every year.  Though he is suffering, he doesn't compromise his principles.  He wouldn't accept a single penny from us.  It is but our bad luck that we have to oppose such a saintly person."

Shahbaz said in agreement, "It can not be gainsaid that this man is an angel indeed."

Seth Chunnilal said in a somber tone, "You are right Mr. Khan.  But, then, if you want to stay in business you cannot be a stickler for principles.  The world is like this.  We cannot help it."

Mr. Gopaldas, a graduate, said with pride in his tone, "Well if he is so principled he shouldn't have taken up this job.  It is okay to be honest.  But shouldn't you care for how your rigidity is affecting others?  We would rather deal with a person who makes money for himself and lets us do the same.  We don't mind even if he demands more than usual.  After all, for every rupee of commission that the officer takes, we make five!  But this person simply wouldn't let us.  Whatever you might say, I am totally opposed to this person."

Shahbaz Khan said, "Yes, it is okay to be good and honest but only so far as it doesn't hurt the interest of others."

Those who had earlier nodded vigorous agreement with Haridas were now all siding up with Gopaldas.  The spark of truth is short lived indeed in weak souls!

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Sardar had a daughter and he was in talks with a barrister at Meerut for her marriage with the barrister's son.  The barrister's family belonged to a high caste and was quite well to do.  It had taken huge efforts to get the matter close to being concluded.  All the details had been worked out except dowry.  Earlier on the barrister saw no point in discussing the matter with a person at the level of a District Engineer.  A District Engineer would naturally be liberal with money and not insisting on a fixed amount would only enhance the barrister's dignity.  But as close inquiries revealed Sardar's way of life and his financial status, the barrister thought it wise to negotiate the quantum of dowry beforehand.  He sent a letter to Sardar asking for a dowry of five thousand rupees.  He added that he regretted being forced into being so explicit with a demand for dowry.  But the old, orthodox, selfish and unthinking elders in the family left him with no other option.  He was helpless in the matter.  Sardar finished reading the letter and inhaled sharply.  All his hopes had been dashed to the ground.  He felt very restless and started pacing the room.

He picked up the letter and went inside.  He wondered if he should share it with Rama.  Finally he decided against it as there was no hope of getting any sympathies from her.  Why be weak?  She will only make me feel like a fool with her acerbic criticism of my ways.

Sardar was a kindhearted person and such a person can hardly face adversities and remain unmoved.  He was full of sorrow and remorse.  He wondered why should he have to suffer so even though he was careful not to hurt others.  After months of efforts and just as he hoped that the matter was about to be closed, the whole thing had gone up in smoke!  There was no way for him to remedy the situation.  It may not be easy to go through the same pains once again.  He felt immersed in gloom with no ray of hope.  His eyes filled with tears as he thought that there was no one on whose shoulders he could cry.

He sat down in the chair.  Several bills submitted by contractors were lying on the table in front of him.  The bills had been lying there for weeks awaiting Sardar's attention.  As he looked at the bills in theses moments of weakness, it occurred to him that a simple solution to his problem was right in front of him.  He wouldn't be required to speak up; a gesture will be enough.  The subordinates will manage everything with just a nod of agreement from him.  He will not have to face any embarrassment.  The thought took such hold on his mind that he started looking up the bills and working out the likely amount of commission he might get.

 However the weak moments passed soon as his real self reasserted itself.  He thought, "What has come upon me?  Am I going to lose a lifetime of inner rectitude for the sake of money?  I may not have money but I always hold my head high.  Even those having motor cars and other luxuries could hardly look me in the eyes.  Am I going to throw this hard-earned honor away for making money?  So what if it runs into thousands of rupees?"

Having thus overcome his momentary weakness, he was suddenly filled with joy and had a hearty laugh in that closed room.  He felt light and relieved at this victory over sudden rush of greed.  He threw the bills down on the floor and walked over them.  He was all smiles as he left the room.

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The Chief Engineer visited Shahjahanpur as scheduled and the visit brought Sardar bad luck in its wake.  None of the projects had been completed.  CE's assistant said, "Sir, it is just not possible for the contractors to complete projects in time.  The District Engineer subjects them to much harassment."  The head clerk accompanying CE found accounts full of errors and omissions.  To make matters worse, the visiting team was not offered any gifts nor was any dinner hosted for them.  It made them dig deeper for finding faults.  After all they were only colleagues and not family members!

The contractors in the district sought an appointment with the CE.  They came with a gift hamper overflowing with expensive presents.  They said, "Sir, even at the cost of incurring your wrath we must submit that we can no longer put up with the unjust ways of the DE.  He may have a reputation for not accepting commissions but you cannot imagine how harsh he is towards us!

The CE wrote in his inspection report - "Sardar Shivsingh is very honest person and has an exemplary character.  However he is not able to properly manage the affairs of a district as big as Shahjahanpur."

As a result of this Sardar was demoted and posted at a smaller district.

His friends and well-wishers organized a farewell function.  Everyone praised him for his uprightness in their speeches.  In the final speech, the president said that they were all going to sorely miss Sardar and no one could fill the vacuum left behind by him.  However the farewell dinner proved that a good dinner can help people overcome any grief howsoever severe.

Sardar's household bags were all packed up.  When he came back from the farewell, his wife found him very sad and morose.  She had been after him to entertain the CE, tip his assistant, offer gifts to the Head Clerk and host dinner for all of them.  But it was all to no avail.  So even after she got the news of Sardar's transfer and demotion, she continued to be sarcastic towards him.  But now the look on Sardar's face made her heart melt.  She asked him softly, "Why are you so sad?"  Sardar said, "Do you think I should celebrate and laugh merrily?"  Rama said, rather seriously, "Yes, you ought to celebrate and laugh.  It is their lot to cry who compromise their integrity and principle for mere money.  You have not been punished for doing any wrong.  You have been punished for being a true gentleman.  And you must not let it distract you.  On the contrary you should be happy about it."

Having finished speaking, Rama looked at Sardar with eyes overflowing with love.  Sardar too looked at her lovingly and found her face aglow with true joy.  He hugged her and said, "All I needed was your love and understanding.  Now no punishment can detract from my joy."

The Miller Woman's Well - A Tale by Munshi Premchand

Chaudhary Vinayak Singh was visiting Gomati, the miller woman, who was lying in her deathbed.  Gomati said, "Chaudhary, this is the only wish I have nurtured in my life."

Chaudhary replied in a somber manner, "Have no worries, Kaki.  Your wish will certainly be fulfilled.  I will put workers on the job right away.  God willing, you will get to drink the water from your well.  By the way, did you count how much you have been able to save for this noble task of constructing a well for public use?"

Gomati closed her eyes and strained her memory hard.  Finally she opened her eyes and said, "Dear, I have but little idea of how much I have.  Here, take this pot: It is all that I have.  I do hope that this will suffice and you will not have to go around seeking contributions."

Chaudhary weighed the pot in both his hands and said, "Yes, Kaki, we will make do with whatever we have.  People here are such misers!  They won't give a pinch of food to a hungry man, let alone contribute to a charitable cause.  You indeed are an exception.  You are donating your lifetime savings to this most noble task."

Gomati said with just a hint of pride in her voice, "My dear, you were only a kid when my husband passed away.  All his savings were spent on his treatment.  God must have loved him much for nothing could keep your Kaka from meeting his Maker at that early age.  I took to working on my flour mill for a living.  In those days I could mill half a quintal of grains every night with these very hands.  People wondered how could I do it.  What propelled me was this desire to construct a well in the name of my deceased husband.  People crave for sons and daughters so they may be remembered by and through them.  The well will immortalize your Kaka in the public memory."

Having entrusted Chaudhary Vinayak Singh with the task and her lifetime savings, Gomati passed away that night.  Her last words to Chaudhary were, "For God's sake, don't delay the construction of the well."  During her life, Gomati used to hide her money like a woman would hide a scar on her face. Chaudhary found two thousand rupees in the pot.  He could hardly believe that the old woman had saved a small fortune for the task.  She had carefully chosen Chaudhary for the task because was head of the village and known for his integrity.

To be continued ....