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Presented before you is one such invaluable story written by Munshi Premchand, titled:
* Liquor Store
The question before the Congress Committee was: Who will lead a protest at the liquor and toddy shops? Twenty-five committee members sat with bowed heads; yet no one spoke. The matter was extremely delicate. Being arrested by the police was a very real possibility. Police officers take their responsibilities seriously. While good and bad people exist everywhere, police officials, with a few exceptions, are not so devoid of civility as to mistreat those who give their lives for their nation and caste; but where is that sense of duty among drunkards? Most of them are accustomed to succumbing only to threats and intimidation, not any other force. Beating someone might deter them from drinking; but this option isn't open to peace activists. Who would dare to put their head in the mill, who would endure the abuse from drunkards? It was quite possible they would start a brawl. Who would tolerate getting beaten up by them? And the police wouldn't just sit and watch. They'd only incite them further. The extent to which these drunkards might act on instigation by the police is difficult to predict! You can't fight fire with fire, and the plea does not seem to sway them.
One member said, "In my opinion, the Panchayats in these communities need to be revitalized. Our negligence has left them defunct. I see no other solution."
The chairman said, "Yes, that is a solution. I'll note it, but a protest is necessary."
Another gentleman said, "It would be better to speak with them in their homes."
The chairman, stroking his smooth head, said, "This is also a good approach; however, we cannot abandon the protest."
Silence descended again.
A woman, a member of the Congress, sat silently in the back row. Whenever a member spoke, she would glance at her and then lower her head. She was a lady member of the Congress. Her husband, Mr. G.P. Saxena, was a well-regarded worker for the Congress. Three years had passed since his death. Mrs. Saxena had joined the Congress' work a year ago and was elected as a member of the committee. She propagated Swadeshi and Khaddar among respectable families. Whenever she stood to speak at the Congress platform, her zeal was such that it seemed as if she wanted to fly into the sky. Her cheeks, like burnished gold, would flush crimson, and her large, compassionate eyes, filled with tears, would sparkle. She was a highly spirited and fearless woman. A latent spark, which, with a gentle breeze, flares into a blaze. It's difficult to explain the charm of her simple words. Several young Congress members, who had rarely attended before, now came regularly. Mrs. Saxena's proposals were invariably approved. Her simplicity, her enthusiasm, her humility, and her soft voice commanded respect from everyone. Each person respected her, yet her natural modesty kept her from fully utilizing her inherent abilities. When she entered a room, everyone would stand up, yet she would remain seated in the back row.
Mrs. Saxena asked the president, "Can women stage a protest at the liquor shops?"
Everyone's eyes turned toward her. The meaning of her question was clear to all.
The president said in a gentle voice, "Mahatmaji urged that this task be entrusted to women, but..."
Mrs. Saxena cut him off, saying, "Then, please assign this task to me."
People looked at Mrs. Saxena with curiosity. How could this gentle lady, whose delicate limbs might be touched by the slightest breeze, prepare to confront the foul smells and offensive looks of rowdy drunkards outside the liquor shops?
A gentleman whispered to his neighbor, "She is a remarkably brave woman."
The other gentleman replied, "She wants to drag us into thorns, nothing else. What picketing will she do? She won't even be able to stand in front of the shop!"
The president, bowing his head, said, "I admire your courage and dedication, but in my opinion, the city is not yet ready for women to picket. You don't know how aggressive drunkards can be! They have no respect or courtesy."
Mrs. Saxena retorted with sarcasm, "Do you think that a time will come when drunkards will become models of respect and virtue? This situation will always be with us. After all, Mahatmaji probably had reason for entrusting this to women. I cannot say how successful I will be; however, I cannot shirk this responsibility."
The president, perplexed, said, "I don't think it's appropriate to push you into this task, but you are free to proceed."
Mrs. Saxena, as if embracing humility, said, "I will not come to you complaining that someone hit me or insulted me. I know that if I succeed, there will be many women who will take up this work wholeheartedly."
A young member said, "I would request the chairman to assign this task to me, rather than putting Mrs. Saxena in danger."
Mrs. Saxena sharply replied, "There is a greater risk of violence with you."
This young member was Jayaram. He had been imprisoned once for a spirited speech, but at that time, he didn't have family responsibilities. He was studying law. Now he was married, with two or three children; his circumstances had changed. He harbored the same fervor, the same longing, the same pain, but he was constrained by his situation.
Looking at Mrs. Saxena with humble pleading, he said, "Please don't put yourself in harm's way. Give me a week. If there's any trouble in the meantime, you are free to remove me."
Mrs. Saxena knew Jayaram well. She knew he was a paragon of sacrifice and courage, but had been held back by circumstances. She also knew he lacked the patience and resilience necessary for picketing. In jail, he had slapped a police officer, adding three more months to his sentence. She said, "You have family responsibilities. I'm not boastful, but I can handle this task with greater fortitude than you."
Jayaram said with the same humble plea, "You are judging me by my past record. You forget that a person's disposition mellows with age."
The president said, "I would like Mr. Jayaram to take on this task."
Jayaram, delighted, said, "I thank you sincerely."
Mrs. Saxena said, disappointed, "Sir, Mr. Jayaram, you have treated me unjustly, and I will never forgive you. You have demonstrated today that women cannot serve their country under the control of men."
(The rest of the article continues in a similar format.)
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