Ms. Padma

Artwork by Amina

It was not that she was indifferent to men; on the contrary, she had no shortage of lovers. Had she possessed nothing but youth and beauty she still would not have suffered from lack of worshippers, but with youth and beauty joined to wealth as well, how could there fail to be a flock of admirers? Padma was not averse to sexual enjoyment; what she detested was dependence and making marriage the chief occupation of life. As long as she could remain free and savour sensual pleasure why should she? She saw no moral obstacle to enjoyment since she considered it merely an appetite of the body to be appeased. Therefore she had dozens of lovers--lawyers, professors, doctors. But every one of them were mere sensualists--like bees who unconcernedly drink the nectar and fly away. There was not even one she felt she could rely on. This was the moment when she realized that her heart demanded not just physical enjoyment but something more as well: a total self-dedication, and this she had not found.

Among her lovers there was a certain Mr. Prasad--a handsome man, and learned. He was a professor in a local college, and also an ardent believer in free love. Padma became infatuated with him and wanted to keep him attached to her, to make him completely her own; but Prasad skirted free of such commitment.

One evening Padma was about to go out for a walk when Prasad arrived. The walk was postponed. There was far more pleasure in chatting than in strolling, and today Ms. Padma had in fact, decided, after much soul-searching, to speak frankly.

With her gaze fixed on Prasad's intoxicating eyes she said, 'Why don't you come and stay in my bungalow?'

'Oh,' said Prasad with malicious amusement, 'the result would only be that in two or three months we won't even be talking to one another.'

'I fail to get your point,' said Padma.

'The point is simply what I'm saying.'

'But why?'

'I don't want to lose my independence,' said Prasad. 'You don't want to lose yours. If your lovers come to you I'll be jealous and vice versa. Ill feeling will spring up, how can our friendship continue?'

The two of them were silent after Prasad's clear and blunt words. Finally, it was Prasad who said, 'Until we take an oath that from this day forward I am yours and you are mine there's no way that we can live together.'

'Will you take such an oath?'

'Will you?'

'I will,' said Padma.

'Then so will I.'

'But except for this one thing I'll remain free in every other manner.'

'And I, except for this one thing, will remain free too.'

'Agreed.'

'Agreed!'

'When do we start?'

'Whenever you say.'

'Then I say, right from tomorrow on.'

'It's a deal. But if you don't behave in accordance with the oath, then what?'

'And what about you?' said Padma.

'You can throw me out of the house; but how could I punish you?'

'You'd just give me up. What else could you do?'

'Not at all, that wouldn't satisfy me in the least. If it came to that, I'd want to debase you, even kill you.'

'How cruel you are, Prasad!'

'So long as we're both free, neither of us has the right to criticize the other. But once we're bound by the oath I won't be able to stand any disregard of that oath, nor will you. You have the means to punish me, but I have none to punish you. The law gives me no rights. I could enforce the oath only by my brute strength, but how could I do anything in front of all these servants of yours?'

'But while I'm yours, this house, these servants and property, everything is yours. We both know that there's no greater social sin than envy. I can't say whether you love me or not, but I'm ready to do, to bear, anything for your sake.'

'Are you really sincere, Padma?'

'With all my heart.'

'But understand this, I'm not going to stay on in your house as a guest. I'll stay only as master.'

'You shall stay as master not only of the house but of me as well. And I shall be your mistress.'

Professor Prasad and Ms. Padma live together and are happy. For both of them the ideal of life they had set for themselves has become true. Prasad earns a salary of only two hundred, but now it doesn't bother him to spend twice that. Formerly he drank liquor only occasionally, but now he's drunk day and night. Now he has his own private car, his own private servants, he goes on ordering every sort of expensive item and Padma happily tolerates all his extravagances. But the more Padma gives way to him, the more he abuses her generosity. Just as in politics authority tends to be abused, in the same way in love as well it is abused, and the one who's weaker must be made to pay. Padma, so proud of herself, was now Prasad's whore and why should Prasad fail to profit from her weakness? In analyzing her he had hit the nail on the head and was driving it in deeper every day, to the point where nights he began to come home late. He would make some excuse not to go out with her, then take his car out and dash off.

By now two years had passed and Padma was pregnant; she had also begun to get fat. The freshness and charm her looks once had were now no more. She was like, as it were, a rare commodity no longer prized because of over-availability.

So it was that one day when Padma returned home Prasad had disappeared. She became extremely irritated. For some time now she'd been observing Prasad's mood changing, and today she'd got up the courage to speak plainly to him. Ten o'clock stuck, then eleven, then midnight. Dinner got cold, the servants went to bed. Some time between twelve and one Prasad came home.

Padma had screwed up her courage, but as soon as she stood before Prasad she became aware of the weakness of her position. Nevertheless she asked him in a fairly firm voice, 'Do you have any idea how late it is?' At this instant she appeared to Prasad like the image of ugliness. He had gone to the cinema with a woman student from his college. He said, 'You ought to have gone to sleep. In your condition you ought to get as much rest as possible.'

Padma's courage mounted. She said, 'Answer my question even if it finishes me off.'

'Then you can finish me off too,' said Prasad.

'For some time now I've watched your feelings change.'

'Your eyesight must have gained considerably in acuteness.'

'You've been cheating on me, I can see that plainly enough.'

'I didn't sell myself to you. If you're really fed up with me I'm ready to leave right now.'

'How can you threaten to leave? You gave up nothing when you came here.'

'I didn't give up anything? You have the nerve to say that! You think you've clipped my wings, but at this point I'm ready to shake you off!'

Padma's courage seemed to have been extinguished. Prasad was already taking out his suitcase. Humbly she said to him, 'I haven't said anything for you to get so angry. I was only asking you where you were. Don't you even want me to have that much right? Haven't I always been ready to do anything for you? And now, when I'm in this condition…'

She choked up and, laying her head on the table, began to sob.

Motherhood was now a very unpopular topic with Padma. One concern alone hovered over her. What should she do, what should she not do? She had reached the final stage of her pregnancy and no longer went to court but sat at home alone the whole day. Prasad would come home in the evening, have his tea and then rush out again and not show his face before midnight. Nor did he conceal from her where he went. It was as though he had come to hate the very sight of her.

The labour pains began. Prasad was not aware. A nurse and a woman doctor were standing by, but Prasad's absence made Padma's labour all the more terrible. When she saw the child beside her she felt a wave of happiness; but then, not finding Prasad with her, she turned her face away from it, as though she'd found a worm in a sweet fruit. When after five days she left the lying-in room, she had turned into a naked sword. Having become a mother she experienced a strange power in herself.

Wanting to settle some bills she sent her servant to the bank with a check. He came back empty-handed.

'The money?' Padma asked.

'The teller told me that Prasad Babu withdrew all the money.'

Padma felt as though she'd been shot. She had saved up the money as if it had been her life's blood. For the child! Alas! On leaving the hospital she learned that Prasad had taken a girl from the college and gone off to England. Furious, she went into the house, picked up Pasad's picture, dashed it to the ground and stamped on it. Whatever he had left behind she gathered together, put a match to it and spat on his name.

A month went by. Padma was standing at the gate of her bungalow holding her child. Her rage had finally turned to grief and despair. Sometimes she felt sorry for the child, sometimes affection, sometimes hatred. On the road she saw a European woman with her husband pushing a perambulator with their child in it. She watched the lucky couple and her eyes filled with tears.

Premchand, the pseudonym used by Dhanpat Rai (1880-1936) is arguably the greatest writer in Hindi, with an astonishing output of fourteen novels and around three hundred short stories. Bengalis will know him best as the writer of the story made into the movie 'Satranje ki khelari' by Satyajit Ray. S. Mahnowar is an academic/translator.