Kafan
by Premchand Summary
Kafan The
father and son duo were sitting beside a died-down fire ahead of their hut.
Inside, the son’s young wife, Budhiya, was turning and twisting within the
agonies of child-birth. Every now then her heart-rending cries brought the
hearts of the duo to their mouths. it had been a winter night. Silence reigned
all around and therefore the village was submerged darkly .
Ghisu said, ‘It looks
she’s dying. we've been running round the whole day. Just go and see.’
Madho was irritated.
‘If she’s to die, why’s she lingering? What’s the purpose in seeing?’
‘You’re so heartless!
You spent an entire year in enjoyment together with her . And now this
disregard?’
‘Because I can’t watch
her flailing her arms and legs.’
The duo
belonged to a family of chamars, and both notorious within the village. Ghisu
rested for 3 days after working for one. And Madho was such a shirker that he
worked for half an hour and smoked his chillum for one. That’s why nobody hired
them. As long as there was a couple of grain reception they were determined to
not work. once they went empty stomach for each day or two, Ghisu would climb a
tree to chop some wood, and Madho would go and sell it within the market. And
as long as this money lasted they hung around here and there aimlessly. There
was no dearth of labor within the village. Being a village of farmers there was
plenty for an honest worker. But people engaged this duo only they were under
compulsion to pay two persons for the labour of 1 . Had the duo been sadhus
they wouldn’t have needed to coach themselves for self-control and contentment;
for these virtues came naturally to them. Their life was so extraordinary. that
they had no possessions apart from a couple of earthen pots and pans. Hiding
their nakedness in rags they lived on. Free from all the human cares. Head and
ears in debt! They were abused, they were thrashed, yet they took nothing to
heart. They were so down and out that folks lent them something out of pity
with none hope of recovery. they might pick peas and potatoes from someone’s
field, when these were in season, roast them and eat; or uproot a couple of
sugar cane stalks and suck them in the dark . Ghisu had lived out sixty years
of his life during this sky-like freedom, and Madho, sort of a good son, was
following in his footsteps, or rather outshining his father. Even now both of
them were sitting ahead of the hearth and roasting potatoes picked from
someone’s field.
Ghisu’s wife
had died way back , and Madho had married last year. Ever since she had
appropriated , Madho’s wife had laid the foundations of an orderly life during
this household. By grinding flour for somebody or cutting grass she would
assemble a couple of rupees and feed these two shameless creatures. And this
made them still more lazy and easy-going. actually they became so demanding
they might invite double wages with none sense of shame if someone wanted to
use them. And now an equivalent woman was dying of birth travails, and that
they were perhaps expecting her to die in order that they might sleep
peacefully.
Ghisu said,
as he picked up a potato and commenced to peel it, ‘Go and see how she is. She
must be possessed by a chudel, what else? The exorcist would demand a rupee.’
Madho was
apprehensive if he went inside the hut, Ghisu would pack up an enormous portion
of the potatoes at his back.
‘I’m scared of getting into ,’ he
said.
‘Afraid of what? I’m here with you.’
‘Why don’t you enter and see?’
‘When my woman died, I didn’t move
from her side for 3 days. And won’t she feel embarrassed? I've never ever
checked out her face. How am i able to check out her naked body? She won’t even
remember of herself. And if she saw me she would freeze with shame.’
‘I wonder what we shall do if she
gives birth to a baby. we've nothing reception , neither dry ginger, nor gur,
nor oil, nor anything .’
‘God will give us everything. those
that won’t give us a penny now will call us and provides us all we'd like .
Nine sons were born to my wife. We had nothing, yet God helped.’
It was not
surprising that this type of mindset should settle during a society where those
that toiled day and night weren't far better than these two, and where those
that knew the way to exploit the peasants were so well-off. actually we might
say Ghisu was the more astute, for rather than joining the naïve and witless
peasants he had joined the gang of shady characters. He didn't have the
potential to follow the tricks of their trade; so where because the other
members of the gang had become leaders of the village community, the entire
village raised accusing fingers at him. Even then he felt that, for all his
impoverishment, he had the satisfaction that he didn't need to plod just like
the peasants, and nobody was ready to exploit his helplessness and naivety.
The duo
continued to eat the burning hot potatoes. They hadn’t eaten anything since
yesterday; in order that they didn’t have the patience to attend for the
potatoes to chill down. As a result they burnt their tongues. The peeled
potatoes didn't feel hot to the touch, but when the duo swallowed them after
biting them with their teeth they burnt their tongue, palate, throat and food
pipe, and therefore the only remedy was to push the burning coals down into the
stomach where there have been many things to chill them. But these effort
brought tears in their eyes.
Now at this very moment Ghisu
remembered the wedding feast he had attended at the Thakur’s twenty years ago.
the sensation of satiation he had experienced thereon occasion was
unforgettable and its memories were still alive in his mind. He said, ‘I can’t
forget that feast. Since then I even have never eaten to my fill like that. The
bride’s people served puris to everyone. Everyone. Big and little , all ate the
puris, fried in pure ghee! Chutney, raita, three sorts of vegetables, one
curry, sweets, and what else! I just can’t describe how I enjoyed that feast.
There was no restriction. invite anything and any amount, and you bought it.
People ate such a lot , so much, that they might not drink any water. and
people who were serving, they kept on filling your leaf-plates with sizzling
hot, round and fragrant kachauris. You tell them you don’t want, attempt to
stop them from serving by spreading your hands over the leaf-plate, but they
are going on and on. And after everyone had finished and washed their mouths
there was the paan-ilaichi.
But i used to be in no state to eat one. I
could hardly stand on my feet. I walked out and visited sleep in my blanket.
The Thakur was so generous!’
Madho tasted these dishes in his
imagination, and said, ‘No one gives such a feast now-a-days.’
‘Oh, no. Those were different times.
Now everyone has become thrifty. Don’t spend on marriages. Don’t spend on
death. Ask them where they might stack the wealth snatched from the poor.
There’s no stopping there, but they won’t spend.’
‘You – you want to have eaten a
minimum of twenty puris?’
‘More than twenty!’
‘I would have eaten fifty!’
‘I too must have eaten fifty. i used
to be so strong. You’re not half my size.’
Having
finished eating potatoes both of them drank water. Then wrapping their dhotis
around themselves they lay down beside the hearth folding their legs into their
stomachs, as if two pythons lay coiled there.
2
When Madho
went into the hut within the morning he found his woman dead. Flies were
buzzing over her mouth. Her stony eyeballs were pointing upwards. the entire
body was covered in dust. and therefore the baby in her womb was dead.
Madho ran
out of the hut. Then both of them started howling and beating their breasts.
The neighbours heard the wailing and came running and, faithful the tradition,
began to commiserate with these unfortunate ones.
But there
was no time for grieving and wailing. that they had to stress about the shroud
and wood for cremation. The house was as deprived of money as a kite’s nest is
of meat. The duo, weeping and wailing, visited see the village landlord. the
owner hated them, and had often thrashed them together with his own hands, for
stealing, for not honouring their commitments. He said, ‘What happened, Ghisua,
why’re you crying? You’re not seen lately . It seems you don’t want to measure
during this village.’
Ghisu put
his head down on the bottom and, with tears in his eyes, said, ‘I’m in great
trouble. Madho’s wife gave up the ghost last night. She spent the entire night
writhing in pain, sarkar. We sat beside her, did all we could to save lots of
her, but she tricked us. Now we don’t have anyone to feed us, sarkar. We’re
ruined. Our house is wrecked. I’m your slave. There’s nobody except you who can
help to perform her last rites. Whatever we had we've spent on her treatment.
Your kindness alone can help us take her on her last journey. I can’t knock at
the other door.’
The landlord
was a generous man but helping Ghisu was like dying a black blanket. For a
flash he thought of driving him out. the guy never comes when called, and now
when he's in difficulty the bastard is cringing for help. However, this wasn't
the time to point out anger and punish him. Unwillingly, he took out and threw
two rupees at him. But he uttered no word of sympathy. He didn’t even check out
him, as if he was getting obviate a load on his head.
After the
owner had given two rupees, the shopkeepers and moneylenders dared not refuse
help. Ghisu knew the way to play up the landlord’s name within the village.
Someone gave two annas, another four, and in one hour Ghisu had collected the
ample amount of 5 rupees. Some one helped with grain, others with wood. within
the afternoon Ghisu and Madho started for the market to shop for a shroud. and
other people began to chop the bamboos to the right size required for the bier.
The
kind-hearted women of the village came, checked out the body , shed a couple of
tears on the hapless woman and went away.
3
When they reached the market, Ghisu
said, ‘We’ve now enough for wood to cremate her. Isn’t it Madho?’
Madho said, ‘Yes, we’ve enough wood,
now we'd like the shroud.’
‘All right, let’s buy a shroud, an
inexpensive one.’
‘It’ll be night when the body is
carried. Who would check out the shroud then?’
‘What a wierd custom! Someone who had
only rags to wear all her life should need a fresh shroud.’
‘And the shroud are going to be burnt
with the body.’
‘What else? If we had got these five
rupees before her death we might have used them on her treatment.’
Both were
trying to delve into each other’s mind. They kept on roaming within the market,
now getting to this cloth-seller, then another. They inspected many sorts of
fabric , now cotton, now silken, but didn’t like all . By this point it had
been evening, and therefore the two, with what godly inspiration nobody knows,
landed ahead of a liquor shop. And as if out of some predetermination, they
went in. They stood there for a few time, unable to make a decision . Then
Ghisu visited the counter and purchased a bottle. Then they bought something
spicy, and fried fish. The duo sat down within the verandah to drink
peacefully.
After downing variety
of cupfuls quickly both of them reached a high.
Ghisu said, ‘What use wouldn't it are
to place a shroud round her? it might have burnt. Nothing gone together with
her .’
Madho checked out the sky and said,
as if invoking the gods as witnesses to his innocence, ‘This is not any quite a
custom. alternatively why should people give thousands of rupees to brahmins?
Who knows whether it reaches there within the other world?’
‘The rich have money to waste. What
can we have?’
‘But how we could convince the
people? Won’t they ask? Where’s the shroud?’
Ghisu laughed, ‘We‘ll say, the cash
slipped off our side pockets. We searched but couldn’t find. nobody will
believe us, but they’ll still give us money.’
Madho also laughed at their
unexpected stroke of excellent luck. He said, ‘She was so good, poor thing.
Even on her death she has fed us so well.’
that they had drunk quite half the bottle.
Ghisu ordered two sers of puris, Chutney, pickles, liver meat. The shop stood
ahead of the liquor shop. Madho went quickly and brought the eatables dished
abreast of leaf-plates. It all cost a rupee and half. Only a couple of coins
were now left with them.
The duo were
enjoying eating puris with royal nonchalance, as if a lion were feasting on his
kill. They feared nothing. They were answerable to none, nor were they worried
about public shame. that they had conquered all such feelings way back .
Ghisu spoke sort of a philosopher,
‘We are so happy. Won’t she be rewarded?’
Madho agreed, bowing his head in
reverence, ‘Surely, surely. God, you're omniscient. Take her to heaven. She has
our blessings. We’ve never before enjoyed a feast like this.’
The next moment Madho was troubled by
a doubt. ‘Why, dada, we too would go up there one day?’
Ghisu didn't answer this childish. He
didn’t want to spoil the pleasure of the instant by thinking of the opposite
world.
‘What we could say if there she
questions us for not having provided a shroud for her?’
‘Your pate!’
‘But she is going to surely ask.’
‘How does one know she won’t get a
shroud? does one think I’m such an ass? Have I wasted sixty years of my life
mowing grass? she is going to get a shroud, and an honest one.’
Madho wasn't convinced. He said, ‘Who
will provide it? you've got splurged all the cash . She’ll ask me . it had been
I who had daubed her hair with vermillion.’
Ghisu became angry. He said, ‘I say
she is going to get a shroud. Why don’t you think me?’
“Who’ll give? Why don’t you tell me?’
‘The same people that have given now.
Only, this point they won’t fork over the cash to us.’
As darkness
became thicker, the celebs became brighter, and therefore the liquor shop
became livelier. Someone sang, another bragged, another embraced his companion,
and yet one more put the kulad to his friend’s lips.
The
atmosphere was ecstatic, the air inebriated. Many became drunk just on a
mouthful. quite the liquor it had been the atmosphere that gave them the kick.
The miseries of life had driven them here, and for a few time they forgot
whether or not they were alive or dead. Or neither alive nor dead..
And both
father and son were still sipping and savouring their drink. All eyes were
fixed on them. How fortunate they were! that they had a full bottle between
them.
After that
they had had their fill, Madho picked up the uneaten puris and handed them over
to a beggar who had been watching them with hungry eyes. And both of them
experienced, for the primary time in their lives, the pride, the contentment
and pure joy of giving!
Ghisu said,
‘Take it, enjoy and provides your blessings. The one to whom this belonged is
dead, but your blessings will surely reach her. Bless with every pore on your
body. it had been hard-earned money.’
Madho
checked out the sky once more and said, ‘Dada, she’ll attend Baikunth. she is
going to be the queen of Baikunth.’
Ghisu stood up and swimming on the waves of ecstasy he said,
‘Yes, son, she’ll attend Baiikunth. She didn’t hurt, or oppress anyone. And
together with her death she fulfilled an excellent wish of ours. If not she,
who else? does one think these fat and rich, who rob the poor with both their
hands then bathe within the Ganga to scrub off their sins and offer water at
the temples, will go there?’
The mood of reverence suddenly changed, for drunkenness is
usually shifting its ground. Now pain and disappointment overpowered them.
Madho said, ‘But, dada, the poor thing suffered tons .
See what proportion she endured before dying!’
He put his hands on his eyes and commenced to cry
loudly.
Ghisu tried to console him, ‘Why does one cry, son? Be
happy, she is now liberated from this delusive existence, free of this misery.
She was very fortunate. She broke the bonds of relationships so early.’
And both of them stood up and began singing. ‘O temptress,
why does one entice together with your eyes, O temptress.’
The drinkers were watching them and these two were singing
heartily. Then they began to bop . They jumped. They leaped. They fell. They
strutted. They posed displaying many emotions. They acted. eventually full with
drunkenness they collapsed to the bottom .
Kafan (1935), is Premchand’s last story , and one among his best. Without
going into the difficulty of textual discrepancies between the Urdu and Hindi
versions of his stories and a few ‘flaws’ arising out of his ‘carelessness’
within the assemblage of realistic detail, I even have translated the story by
‘harmonizing’ the first Urdu version and therefore the ‘carefully’ edited Hindi
version (by Dr Kamal Kishor Goenka) of the story, and, of course, with inputs
from Pritchett’s own translation. The changes in my version are few, almost
imperceptible. the foremost visible change is within the use of 1 name, that of
the son. within the Urdu version Premchand through out calls him Madho, but
within the Hindi version he's called Madhav. Whether this was done by Premchand
himself or by the primary translator together with his consent, I don’t know.
Pritchett also uses Madhav. This surprises me. The name Mahav was then
typically urban, or confined mostly to literate and upper crust families, and
that i can’t imagine illiterate Ghisu naming, much less addressing, his son as
Madhav. In any case it's ‘Madho’, not ‘Madhav’, that matches with ‘Ghisu’ and
‘Budhiya’. the mixture Ghisu, Budhiya, Madhav looks very odd to me. So I even
have retained ‘Madho’, as within the Urdu version.
Coming from Premchand, often a half-hearted realist and an
idealist-reformist, it's a tremendous story. to completely comprehend what
Premchand is doing here, we should always forget both realism and idealism. The
simple and seemingly realistic narrative is extremely deceptive and disguises a
really complex texture of meaning, which perhaps could are achieved only
through a subversion of the realistic mode. Many things within the story look
improbable, unconvincing, distorted and unnatural from a purely realistic point
of view. But internet result's very rewarding. Premchand during a position|is
ready"> is in a position to pack numerous things in a small space using
this subversive technique: absolutely the pauperization and therefore the
consequent degradation of the daddy and son duo; the utter loneliness and
isolation during which a lady , Budhiya, is left to suffer and die; the
insensitiveness, perhaps born out of their helplessness in having no resources
to ameliorate her condition, with which the duo watch and let her die; the
nonchalance with which the wretched two enjoy themselves at the liquor shop
feasting and drinking, using the cash they need been given for purchasing the
shroud for cremation while Budhiya's body lies within the hut; the duo’s
conversation about the feast that Ghisu had once enjoyed at the wedding within
the Thakur’s family, and therefore the feast at the liquor shop, which may be a
re-enactment of that old feast, during which both father and son are now
partakers; the very disturbing black humor emanating from the conversation
about Budhiya between the daddy and son in their drunken state; the awful
ending of the story; presentation, through hints and suggestions here and
there, of an overall critique of the feudal exploitative society ─ these are a number of the strands
that are woven into the story’s texture.
Another element, which only an excellent writer could have
introduced, is that the moment during which the father-son duo offer the
left-overs of their feast to a beggar, and knowledge the pride, and pure joy of
‘giving’, for the primary , and maybe the last time, in their lives. For a
quick moment the 2 wretched creatures become noble and magnanimous
philanthropists, revealing perhaps for a moment the gap between what the 2 are
and what they might wish to are . this is often also another example of
Premchand’s use of irony to damn the society that perpetuates social injustice
through philanthropy. The story is filled with such ironies; and mixing these
together with his typical genial bantering tone (that relieves the devastating
tragedy of those three lives) Premchand presents his condemnation of the
socio-economic system that produces men like Ghisu and Madho. At an equivalent
time it's a picture of the degradation to which citizenry can fall. Thus the
story is both a picture of the contemporary rural India also because the fallen
state of mankind.
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