The New Wife

Munshi Premchand's original story was published in Hindi as Naya Vivah in Sarsoti, May 1932. And in Urdu in Lahore’s Afsana in May 1933.

Munshi-Premchand (July 31, 1880-October 8, 1936) ("Premchand") was one of the greatest literary figures of modern Hindi literature. Initially Premchand used to write in Urdu by the name of ’Nawabrai’. However, when one of his novels ’Soz-e-vatan’ was confiscated by the British Government, he started in writing under the pseudonym ’Premchand’. Before Premchand, the Hindi literature consisted of either fantasy or religious stuff. It was Premchand who brought realism in the Hindi literature. He wrote over 300 stories, a dozen novels and two plays. ’’

“ Premchand Premchand chaired the first all-India conference of the Indian Progressive Writers’ Association in April 1936 at Lucknow.” The Urdu readers are familiar with Taraqqi Pasand Adub, in addition to Premchand such luminaries were part of the movement as Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Syed Sajjad Zaheer etc.

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(1)

We always have new blood running in our old bodies. Life is in the new blood. Every particle of every droplet of the ancient process of the newness sings beautiful songs. Just look at that hundred-year old woman dressed up as a new bride!

Ever since Lala Dangamill remarried his youth had returned with a full force. He was hardly at home when his first wife was alive. Back then, every day he’d first pray until ten or eleven in the morning, eat his lunch, and then leave for the shop he owned. He’d get back at around one in the morning and, all tired, go right back to sleep. He’d get angry if Laila ever asked him to come home a little early. “So you think I should close the shop and stop earning money just because of you. This is not the old days when all you had to do was to pray a little to that goddess of wealth Lukshmi and she’d be happy with you. Today, even if you kill yourself rubbing your forehead very hard at her feet she wouldn’t look at you straight-face.” Poor Laila would keep quiet after that barrage.

It was only six months back when Laila, who was burning with high fever, asked Lalaji when he was heading to his shop, “I’m not feeling well. Please come home a little early.” Laila was quite scared in saying that.

Lalaji took his headgear off and hung it on the nail on the wall. “I won’t go to the shop if you think that me sitting around the house twiddling my thumb would make you feel any better.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t go to the shop, just come home a little early,” said Laila feeling miserable.

“You think all I do is party at the shop?”

Laila didn’t say anything. That sarcasm from her husband was nothing new to her. She had a feeling she wasn’t wanted in his house. It wasn’t her fault that she was not young anymore. Who stays young forever? Wisdom tells us that, after twenty five years of being together, a relationship transforms into a deep spiritual bonding, a relationship that goes a lot deeper than superficial day-to-day activities, a relationship that views the other’s shortcomings as beauty, a relationship that becomes sweet as a ripened fruit after all that time together. But for Lalaji money was the yardstick by which he measured everything in life. There’s no better place than a shack for an old cow that could provide neither milk nor calves. For him, it was more than enough for Laila to be the queen of the house, eat, and rest. Nothing more was needed of her. She could have as much jewelry as she wanted, pray, fast, and be as charitable as she could be. All he wanted was for her to stay away from him.

The human nature, however, demanded the same from him. Lalaji longed for what he did not want Laila to have. Laila was thought to be an old woman at forty, but Lalaji thought of himself as young at forty five. Full of adolescent joy and feelings, he felt disgusted being close to old Laila. He was even more sickened when that poor, complex-ridden woman tried to look pretty by putting make-up on and wear nice clothes. Yeah, right! The woman had given birth to seven boys, her hair all messed up, and her face like a badly wrinkled cloth, but she still wanted to put henna on her hands and feet and look pretty! What is it with aging women? Why do they die to look pretty? What do they want? Don’t they understand that their youth is gone and they cannot get it back by applying false tricks? But Lalaji himself fantasized about his youth. He was not satisfied with only feeling young. He worked-out, colored his hair twice a week, and corresponded with a doctor about a medicine that would keep him young.

“What time will you be home?” Asked Laila after a pause seeing him a little perturbed.

“How do you feel today?” Said Lalaji a little tenderly.

Laila did not know what to say. If she says she’s feeling bad, this guy would stay at home and attack her with his bitter sarcasm all day; and if she says she’s feeling better, he won’t give a damn and would disappear till two in the morning.

“I feel better now, but I’m not that well, either. You go to the shop. Your customers must be waiting for you. But, for God’s sake, don’t come back at two in the morning. By then the boys are asleep. I get worried and don’t feel good.” Laila was terrified in saying all that.

“I’ll be back at about twelve,” said the Saithji with all the sweetness in his voice.

“Can’t you be back at ten?” Asked Laila desperately.

“No way before eleven-thirty.”

“Not even at ten-thirty?”

“Okay, then, eleven o’clock.”

They agreed on eleven o’clock and Lalaji promised to be back by then. But that evening a friend of his invited him to a prostitute dance. Now, how could poor Lalaji say no to that invitation. When someone invites you with such loving tenderness you can’t say no. That’s not very nice and polite. His friend wasn’t asking for anything, just Lalaji’s company. It was Lalaji’s duty to oblige. Housework never gets done. Someone is sick, the guests are over, or it’s time to pray. There’s always something going on in the house. If one starts thinking about how many chores one has to do in the house, one would give up all his friends but still would never get anything done in the house. So Lalaji went to the prostitute song-and-dance with his friend and returned home at two in the morning. He turned the house clock back one hour but couldn’t do better than that. He could make two back to one but not back to twelve. He had already eaten. So he snuck in his room and quietly went to sleep. Poor Laila had fallen asleep waiting for him.

Laila could not recover from her illness. Lalaji was spiritually very sad of her death. His friends sent him telegrams of consolation, and for several days many people came over to his place to console him. A newspaper took out a very moving obituary of hers. Lalaji thanked everyone, and started a trust fund for girls in Laila’s name. No, sir, she didn’t die, I did. Light has gone out of my life. She was an angel. I’m nothing. I wasn’t worthy of her. So on and so forth.

Six months after Laila’s death, Lalaji remarried upon his friends’ insistence. What else that poor guy could do. He needed a companion. Everyone does. Especially at his age. One needs crutches when one cannot walk with his own legs.


(2)

A revolution had occurred in Lalaji’s life ever since his new wife arrived. He had no interest in his shop anymore. He won’t show up for work for weeks. His life that was so bland before was now blooming. He loved his new life. He bought new furniture and hired more servants, and even bought a radio. His old self was now more youthful than adolescent boys, just as the lightening is far brighter than the moonlight. When his friends would congratulate him on his new found energy, he would say humbly, “I was always young and will always remain so. If the old age ever shows up, I’d color its face black, put it on a donkey and kick it out of town. Why do people associate youth with age? Age and youth are related just as religion and manners, behavior and honesty, beauty and makeup. You call the youths of today young! Sir, I tell you, I will not trade one hour of my youth with thousands of these so-called young of today. What’s their life? They have no interests, no hobbies, no nothing. They’re loud as drums. They say the stupidest things. He would run over the same theme about young people with his new wife, Aasha, and insists that she comes with him to the cinema, the theatre or a walk by the river. But Aasha did not show any interest. She would go out with him willy-nilly, only because she had to.

“Lets go for a walk by the river-side,” Lalaji said one day when he got home.

It was the rain-season and the river was flowing very well. Rainbow could be seen and it was quite beautiful out. Lots of people were walking joyously by the river.

“I don’t feel like it,” said Aasha cheerlessly.

“You feel that bad to go out in this beautiful weather,” insisted Lalaji.

“Why don’t you go by yourself. I’ve lots of things to do at home.”

“God has given us servants. Why do you have to work?”

“The cook did not cook well today. You won’t touch the food when you sit down to eat it.”

Aasha cooked for Lalaji in her free time. People had told her that, after certain age, all men cared about was eating. Lalaji could not believe it! Aasha loved him so much that she’d rather cook for him then go out for a walk in this beautiful weather! Compare that to Laila! If Laila ever found out he was going out for a walk, she won’t leave him alone and, like a leech, tag along with him. He had to come up with millions of excuses just to get rid of her.

“You get these mood swings. So what if the food is not that delicious today. If you keep treating me like a king you’d make me too lazy. If you don’t go then I won’t go.”

“You spoil me by taking me around. If I get used to all that fun who would do the house work,” Aasha said as if trying to get out of the hang-rope around her neck suffocating her.

Lalaji said generously, “I don’t care about the household chores. I want you to be spoiled. I want you to stay away from housework. And why do you keep addressing me as “aap”? I want you to call me “tum,” get mad at me affectionately, curse me amorously. When you call me “aap” you elevate me to a god. I want to live like a naughty boy in this house, not like a god.”

“Please. I can’t call you “tum.” One calls “tum” to someone one’s own age.” Aasha forced a smile.

If his accountant had told him that his business had lost a lakh rupees, Lalaji wouldn’t have felt as deep a shock as those innocent words from Aasha did. Suddenly he felt cold as ice. The colored-hat on his head, the silk-cloth around his neck, the tight outfit with gold buttons--they all seemed mockingly absurd. He felt as if he abruptly woke up from a dream.

“You want to go out or not?” He said feeling very down.

“I don’t feel like it.”

“So I won’t go either.”

“I’m not asking you not to.”

“You called me “aap” again.”

“Tum.” Aasha forced herself and her face turned red.

“Yes, “tum” just like that. So you are not coming? What if I asked you to?”

“Then I’d have to. It’s my duty to carry out your orders.”

Lalaji could not order her. The words like “duty” and “order” poured in his ears like hot lava. He turned around to leave. Aasha felt bad for him and said, “When will you be back?”

“I’m not going.”

“Okay, then, I’ll come with you.”

“I don’t want to force you if you don’t feel like it,” said Lalaji like a stubborn little boy who, half-crying, kicks away the toy that was initially refused to him.

“No, you would mind.” Aasha called him “aap” then immediately corrected herself.

Forcing herself, Aasha went out with him. She didn’t put any makeup on or any jewelry, and had the same plain clothes she was already wearing. She looked as if she were a widow. Lalaji was aggravated at her behavior. He married her to have fun, to make the dim light in the lamp burn brighter. What’s the use of pouring more oil in the lamp if the light is not getting any brighter? Why is she so aloof and sad? She is like a tree that would not turn green no matter how much you water it. I have boxes of jewelry for her, bought them for her from places as far away as Delhi, Calcutta and France. I got her expensive saris so only the moths could feed on them? That is the problem with girls who come from poor families. They don’t know how to dress, eat, or even to give some of it away. If you even give them a chest full of treasure they still wouldn’t know how to spend it. They went out but Lalaji did not enjoy at all.


(3)

Lalaji tried to win Aasha for the next several months but to no avail. He kept trying. He had spent all that money on her and needed the maximum return on his investment. He looked for new activities to do with her. If the gramophone wasn’t working right it had to get fixed; it would be just silly to put it away.

The old cook got sick and went on a sick leave. His son Jugal, a boy of sixteen or seventeen, replaced him. Jugal was a total clown, awkward and inept. He was very clumsy and nothing got through to him. He had no clue how to cook and his so-called cooking was out of control. His lentils at times liquid as tea and other times thick as yogurt, sometimes he would put no salt in the food and other times he would put so much that one couldn’t eat. He had no idea how to use the rolling-pin to make the bread-dough even-flat; they would come out all wrong: very thick in the middle and very thin around the edges. Aasha would go to the kitchen first thing in the morning and teach that awkward and clumsy boy how to cook. “You are so clumsy, Jugal. Who taught you how to cook? What have you been doing all these years?”

“I just turned seventeen, I’m still very young,” said Jugal with tears in his eyes.

“So you think it takes twenty years to learn how to make flat-bread,” Aasha laughed.

“You teach me for one month, Ma’am, and you’ll see what great bread I’ll make for you. You’d get me a prize then. I can make curry even now.”

“No, you still cannot make curry. Just yesterday you put so much salt in it that we couldn’t eat it,” said Aasha with an encouraging smile.

“That’s because you weren’t here when I was cooking yesterday.”

“So, if I stay here when you’re cooking then you’d cook better?”

“When you are with me here I concentrate better.”

“And when I’m not with you here then...?”

“I’ll go and sit by your door.”

“Will you leave once your father’s back?”

“No Ma’am. Put me to work. Teach me how to drive the motorcar. Please move away from there. I’ll get that pot for you. Your pretty dress will get dirty.”

“No, you move away. You’re too clumsy. The pot will fall on you.”

Jugal’s thin and weak face looked distressed.

“Why the long face?” Asked Aasha smiling.

“You break my heart when you get mad at me. No matter how mad Master gets at me it doesn’t bother me, but your angry eyes turn my feet cold.”

“I wasn’t mad at you. All I said if the pot fell on your feet you’ll get hurt.” Aasha tried to console him.

“Well, same thing could happen to you.”

Saithji came and stood by the kitchen door, “Aasha look what beautiful flowerpots I got for you. I’ll put them by your door. Why are you bothering yourself in this smoke-filled kitchen? Tell this boy to get the old cook back or I’ll get someone else. There’s no shortage of cooks. I can’t be that nice to him anymore. This ass has no manners and is totally useless. You hear that, Jugal. Write a letter to your father today.”

Aasha was rolling the pin over the bread-dough and Jugal was waiting for her to pass him the flatbread so he could heat them up. She had no time to look at those flowerpots.

“I’m rolling the bread. Give me a minute. If I leave it to Jugal, he’ll roll them all crooked,” said Aasha while rolling the pin over a flour-dough.

“If he rolls the bread crooked, I’ll kick him out,” said Lalaji a little pissed.

“He’ll learn in a few days. No need to kick him out.” Aasha didn’t bother to even look at Lalaji.

“Come with me and tell me where to put the flowerpots.”

“I said I’ll be there when I’m done rolling the bread.”

“No, I said don’t roll the bread.”

“Don’t be so stubborn.”

Lalaji was stunned. Aasha had never talked to him that way. Not only that, there was an anger in her voice. He left the kitchen very mad. He was so mad that he felt like breaking all the flowerpots and trashing the flowers.

“Please go, bibiji, or the Master will be very mad,” said Jugal frightened.

“Shut up and hurry heating the bread or you’ll be kicked out. I’ll give you some money today. Get new clothes. You look like a beggar. Can’t you find a barber? Get your hair done.”

“If I spend the money on new clothes, what will I give to my father?”

“I’m not talking about your money, you idiot. I’ll give you extra money.”

“If you’re buying then I’ll get the best outfit.”

“What if you have to spend your own money?” Aasha said sweetly.

“Then I won’t get new clothes.”

“You’re so clever!”

“A man lives only on dry-bread at home, but eats the best food at a party.”

“I don’t know all that. Get a decent outfit and a hat. I’ll give you two aanas for your hair cut.”

“Oh, forget it. I’ll be thinking of you all the time if I wore nice clothes. I’m better off with the rag I’ve got now.”

“You’re so selfish. You’re getting free clothes but you want the best ones.”

“I want your picture when I leave this place.”

“What will you do with my picture?”

“I’ll put it up on my wall and look at it every day. Wear the sari you were wearing the other day, and also that beautiful pearl necklace of yours. I don’t like your plain face. You have so many beautiful bangles. Why don’t you wear them?”

“You like those bangles?”

“Very much.”

“Have you prepared the bread yet, Jugal? Listen, if you don’t do it right by tomorrow I’ll let you go,” Lalaji walked in and said grimly.

Aasha washed her hands quickly, went to the flowerpots and looked at them pleasantly. There was an unusual happiness on her face. She even talked sweetly. Lalaji’s anger disappeared.

“These flowers are so pretty. Have all these flowerpots put in front of my room. Wow! They are so beautiful! And do tell me their Hindi names.” One could tell that Aasha was speaking from her heart.

“What will you do with all of them. Just pick five or ten. I’ll have the rest of them put in the garden,” Lalaji teased her.

“No way! I want all of them.”

“You’re so greedy!”

“Yes I am. Even you can’t have them.”

“Can I have a few, please. I worked so hard to bring them here.”

“No, you are not getting a single one of them.”


(4)

Aasha dressed up real well the next day. When she got out of her room wearing that turquoise sari, Lalaji just flipped. His love for her is finally having an affect on her. She never dressed up like that before, or put that pearl necklace on willingly. But today...she’s wearing all that jewelry and seems so happy as if saying, look how beautiful I am. The bud has finally blossomed.

Lalaji was happy as a drunk. He wanted all his friends to come and see how beautiful his wife was. They should all see how wonderful his life is. His enemies who had been thinking otherwise should open their eyes and see how his trust, honesty and steadfastness had borne fruit.

“Lets go out. The wind is blowing gently and it’s beautiful out,” he suggested.

Aasha couldn’t go out at this time. She had to go to the kitchen where she won’t get done at least until twelve or one. Then there were other household chores to finish. She had no time. And besides, she had this pain in her chest since yesterday. She never had a pain like that before.

Lalaji thought of something and was ecstatic. It must be those tablets he had been taking. Rajdeed told him to be careful when taking them. Rajdeed should know. It was his family’s secret tablets. Rajdeed’s father was a personal doctor to the Maharaja of Benares. That medicine was Rajdeed’s family secret.

“You should’ve told me about the pain. I would’ve gotten medicine for you.” Lalaji acted surprised.

“I thought it’ll get better by itself. But now it’s becoming worse.”

“Where’s the pain. Let me check.”

Lalaji moved his hand towards her chest and Aasha lowered her head shyly. “Don’t be naughty and get me medicine.”

Lalaji could not have been more proud of his manliness. He had to tell this to everyone. It was time to tell all those people off who talked about his marriage suspiciously.

He first went to Pundit Bholanath’s house. “I’m in big trouble. She has this pain. I don’t understand why. She says it never happened before.”

“Maybe she caught something in the air. It’s probably nothing.” Bholanath was nonchalant and did not display any sympathy.

Saithji didn’t agree with him at all. “No Punditji, it’s not that she caught something. It’s something inside her. You see, she is quite young. I’ll get medicine from Rajdeed.”

“I think she’ll get better by herself.”

“You don’t understand, that’s your problem.”

“What you think is totally wrong. But anyway, get medicine for her and get some for yourself too.”

Lalaji’s next stop was his friend Lala Phaagmill’s house. He told Phaagmill essentially what he told Bholanath. But Lala Phaagmil was clever. “You are very naughty,” he said smiling.

“I’m telling you my pain and you’re joking! Show some humanity!” Lalaji was very pleased.

“I’m not kidding. What’s to kid about! She’s very young and you’re an experienced man. That’s all. I’ll shave my mustache off if that’s not the reason.”

“I swear, I’m very careful.” Lalaji said innocently.

“Oh, please! Don’t swear. I have children. I know. I’m the man in my house. Go get the medicine.”

“I’ll get them from Rajdeed.”

“He doesn’t have any medicine, you do!”

Lalaji was delirious to hear that. He felt very happy and very young. One could see that on his face. His hat tilted. His chest expanded. He walked proud. When Lalaji told Rajdeed his story he said, “I told you to be careful with the tablets I gave you. But you didn’t listen to me. Cut down for a couple of months then you’ll see the miracle. I don’t have too many of them left. Everyone wants them. It takes months to prepare them. I need hundreds of herbs and plants to make them and have to get those herbs from as far as Kalash, Nepal and Tibet. You know how hard it’s to prepare them? Anyway, here’s another bottle; take it with you just in case.”


(5)

“You should always dress like that. I’ll not let you come near the stove,” said Jugal when he saw Aasha sparkling from head to toe.

“Why are you being so hard today? You never said that before,” said Aasha mischievously.

“Well, today is different."

“I’d like to hear that...how?”

“I’m afraid that you’d get mad at me.”

“Just say it. I won’t get mad.”

“You look very pretty.”

Lala Dangamill had praised Aasha’s beauty hundreds of time, but she always felt that he was a fake. The words praising Aasha from Lalaji’s mouth were akin to a faggot holding a sword. But Jugal had a passion in his words, a restlessness, an unexpectedness, a powerful attraction. A strange sensation ran through Aasha’s entire body. She felt high.

“Don’t stare at me. You’ll put a curse on me.”

“I’ll miss you so much once I leave.”

“What do you do after making bread? I don’t see you around.”

“I stay away because the Master is around. He’s going to get rid of me. See where God takes me next.”

“Who is going to get rid of you?” Aasha’s face turned red with anger.

“Master says he’s going to kick me out.”

“Just do your work. No one will kick you out. You make pretty good bread now.”

“Master is very hot-tempered.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll fix him alright.”

“He looks like your father standing next to you.”

“Shut up. You’re a rogue. Watch what you say.”

But that false anger could not hide the secret of her heart. It came out like a beam of light.

“Don’t shut me up. Everyone says what I’m saying. If I were forced to marry some fifty-year old woman, I’d run away from the house. I’d either kill myself or kill her. So what. The worst that would happen to me is that I’d be hanged.” Jugal was very blunt.

“There’s something called fate.” Aasha could not maintain her fake anger. Jugal had hit her very hard and she was in pain.

“To hell with that fate.”

“I’ll marry you off to some old woman. You watch.”

“I’ll kill myself, you watch.”

“Why? An old woman will love you more than a young girl. She will serve you and keep you straight.”

“That’s what a mother for. Wives are for something else.”

“What’s a wife for then?”

“If you weren’t my master I would’ve told you what a wife’s for.”

They heard Lalaji’s car pull in. For some reason, Aasha’s sari slipped from her head down to her shoulder. She quickly pulled it back to cover her head and walked away instructing Jugal, “Come in my room as soon as Lalaji’s done eating and leaves for work.”