Friends, our nation has, for centuries, been a birthplace and a stage for great figures brimming with virtues like sages, poets, writers, musicians, and more. The countless creations by these luminaries are invaluable treasures. Today's youth, in this digital age, seem to be lost, and we are drifting further away from our heritage and priceless legacy. Subkuz.com constantly strives to bring you not only these invaluable treasures but also entertaining stories, news, and information from across the globe. Presented before you is one such priceless story, highly inspirational, penned by the renowned author, Munshi Premchand.
The Carriage Driver's Lament
A writer once had the opportunity to take a long journey in a carriage in Allahabad. The carriage driver, Mian Jamman, was a great talker. He was around fifty years old, and his pronouncements about the route were so persuasive that they left little room for doubt. I present his life and views for the readers' enjoyment.
Jamman— "Tell me, sir, about this carriage... He (the passenger) doesn't even look this way, perhaps he'll take a horse-drawn cab. Congratulations. Cheap but tiring, sir. The road is bad, a horse-drawn carriage will be uncomfortable. You must have read in the newspaper that four cabs overturned on this very road yesterday. May the municipality be safe; otherwise, cabs will be completely stopped. Motor vehicles are damaging the road and causing harm to us poor cab drivers. In a few days, people will be traveling by air; then, the roads will be available for us carriage drivers. We'll see who will be asking after these trucks at that time; if they are in museums, well and good. But right now, they don't even consider us. Look, sir, the road has become difficult to navigate. It's as though the entire road is for them, and for us, only the tracks and dust! They're boasting now; let the airplanes come. Why, sir, why doesn't the government use half of the motor vehicle's revenue to repair the roads? Or should they impose quadruple taxes on petrol? They call themselves taxis; in essence, they are tax-payers. Sir, my wife says 'Leave the cab, take the carriage'; but there's nothing left in carriages now either; let's go for a motorcar. I responded that will you ride on your own feet or on someone else's? There she fell silent. And listen, the other day, Kallan was driving a motorcar; Mian collided with a tree and was killed. He left behind a widow and ten orphans. Sir, I am a poor man; how do I feed my children? What more do I want? I've been a cab driver for almost forty years. A few more days and they, too, will be cut down, with their whips in hand. Then you will see, sir, even if a cab, a carriage, or a horse falls, there is still some profit. In contrast, if a motorcar breaks down, sir, no one will take its iron even for two rupees. Sir, a horse is just a horse; the passengers are walking, or dragging an elephant's corpse. Sir, a horse provides control and profit of all kinds, in every situation. A motorcar offers no comfort. In a carriage, the passenger can sleep, and so can we, and so can the horse, and yet the destination is reached. The screeching of the motorcar tears the ear drums, and the drivers have to endure like grinding grain.
Sir, women also use carriages and cabs mercilessly. The other day, seven or eight women came and asked 'Why are you taking the Tribeni route?' Sir, the price is fixed; it's not like a shop that has a sale four times a year. Pay my wages and ask for blessings. While you are the master, you may not give anything to us, but the government, and women only pay eight annas for work worth a rupee. Sir, we work for gentlemen. The respectable always remain respectable, and a woman will always be a woman. We're being pushed aside, supposedly because of the veil. Dozens of passengers and children can fit in a cab or carriage. Once the cab's harness broke, thirteen women tumbled out! I, a poor man, was devastated. Everyone is surprised at how they fit in, sideways, or crouched. There's no chance to save a life in a carriage. They cram one child each on both knees! The carriage becomes a circus. Yet, they don't know how to pay the proper wages! Initially, there was a system for the veil. I talked to the men, and got paid. Ever since the show began, the veil was removed and women started coming and going freely. This is a huge loss for the poor. Sir, Allah is our master too. I continue my work daily. One earns the same amount of money, whether a hundred goldsmiths or one blacksmith. Last month, after two hours of service, eight annas were paid, and they ran off. When I looked at the carriage, what did I see? A gold earring had fallen. I yelled, "Hey, what's this?" and they said that they may not get another chance, the door is closed. I stood there for a few minutes, but then I had to leave. My wages remained with my wife, and her earring stayed with me.
The other day, four freedom fighters had my carriage. They rode from the station, instructed me to go fast. Throughout the journey, they shouted "Victory to Gandhiji!" "Victory to Gandhiji!" A gentleman was coming from outside, and there was a large crowd and procession. They bounced and jumped along the path like puppets. When we reached the station, they barely gave me four annas. I demanded the full fare, but there was nothing but "Victory to Gandhiji!" "Victory to Gandhiji!" I cried, "My stomach!" "My stomach!" My carriage was like a stage for a play; they danced and frolicked, and now they won't pay their dues! But I kept shouting, and they disappeared into the crowd. I think people have gone mad. They demand freedom, but they will get freedom for their antics! Sir, there's a peculiar wind blowing. They don't improve themselves; they just demand freedom. Firstly, set your own lives right. My son was provoked, and gathered all the clothes and started insisting that he'd set them on fire. Initially, I reasoned that I was a poor man, where could I get more clothes, but when he wouldn't listen, I threw him down and beat him soundly. Then he regained his senses. Sir, when the time comes, we carriage drivers will lead the freedom movement. Freedom will never come on the motorcar. Pay our full wages first; then demand your freedom. Sir, women are women, we can't speak or say anything to them. We have to accept whatever they give. But some fake respectable men cut off the ears of women. They check our numbers before allowing anyone to board. If a bird falls on the road due to their carelessness, they will blame us. Also, if we demand less fare, they will be annoyed. Remember one instance, a fake 'well-well' person went to the Lat Sahib's office; left me outside, and said that they would return in a minute, but I've been waiting for this day till now. If I ever see that fellow again, I'll take my revenge, regardless of the outcome.
