Friends, our nation has, for centuries, been a cradle of great personalities, brimming with sages, poets, writers, musicians, and others. The countless works created by these luminaries are invaluable. Today's youth, in this digital age, seem to be lost somewhere, drifting further from our heritage and precious treasures. subkuz.com consistently strives to bring you these invaluable treasures along with entertaining stories, news, and insights from across the globe. Presented here is a truly inspiring story by the renowned author, Munshi Premchand.
Jealousy
Pratapchandra had ceased visiting Virjan's home days before the marriage. He did not participate in any pre-wedding functions, not even attending the gatherings. With a clouded mind and drooping countenance, he remained secluded in his home. Munshi Sanjeevan Lal, Sushila, and Suvama all pleaded with him, but to no avail. He refused to cast a glance towards the wedding party. Finally, Munshiji's heart was broken, and he remained silent. This continued until the wedding. Afterward, he completely shunned the entire community. He would walk through the school as if a tiger blocked his path, or a debtor trying to avoid a moneylender. He would flee at the mere sight of Virjan’s shadow. If he saw her within his own home, he wouldn't even step inside. His mother would implore him, "Son, why aren't you speaking to Virjan? Why are you so distant?" She would cry for hours, wondering what she had done to incur his displeasure. She would point out how long they had been together, how much he had loved her, and lament the sudden change in his behavior. "If you stay aloof like this, it will be detrimental to the poor girl’s life. She is completely heartbroken."
Pratap kept his eyes lowered, listening to everything and silently moving away. Pratap was no longer a naive youth. Buds of youthful resentment were blossoming within the tree of his life. Since he could remember, Virjan's life had been intertwined with his like the finest milk and cream. This sudden and harsh severance of their beautiful and charming dreams had deeply wounded his tender heart. Once, he considered Virjan his everything. Now, he felt adrift. The one who had given no thought to Virjan, now occupied his every waking moment. This internal conflict churned within his heart, and he yearned to punish those who had shattered his dreams and extinguished his hopes. His anger was most directed at poor Sushila.
Gradually, his behavior shifted. When he returned from school, he would invariably recount some incident related to Kamalacharan, especially when Sushila was present. He found malicious pleasure in distressing her. Although his words and mannerisms were subtly hurtful, they pierced her heart like arrows. Today, Kamalacharan stood on a stool, his head reaching for the sky. Yet he was so brazen that he began laughing when I pointed him out. Today was quite a show. Kamalacharan had snatched a boy’s watch. The boy complained to the master. Kamalacharan was sitting right beside him. The master investigated and found the watch on Kamalacharan. The result? A report reached the headmaster, who flew into a rage, administering three dozen lashes. The entire school watched in astonishment. While receiving the punishment, he shouted, but as soon as he was outside, he burst into laughter, puffing out his cheeks. The boys had indeed beaten Kamalacharan at the school gate. They had beaten him senseless. Sushila would listen, and her heart would sink with each story.
Munshi Sanjeevan Lal confirmed many of Pratap's accounts. Sometimes, Kamalacharan was seen larking around in the market, smoking cigarettes with thugs, chewing betel nut, generally behaving badly. Whenever Munshiji saw his son-in-law in such a state, he'd vent his anger on his wife, "This is all your doing. You were convinced that both the boy and the family were suitable, and you were so happy." At that moment, he failed to consider that if Sushila was at fault, he was equally culpable. She was confined to the house; how could she possibly know the boy’s true nature? She had seen the parents, been impressed by their lineage and affluence, and accepted them without further thought. However, Munshiji, due to his laziness and inaction, failed to investigate further, despite numerous opportunities. Many of Munshiji's acquaintances in this country still continue to blindly commit the same mistakes.
Virjan was everything to Sushila. Virjan was her life, her purpose, her truth. She was the foundation of her existence, the light in her eyes, the joy in her heart. Her greatest desire was for her beloved Virjan to find a good home. Her in-laws would be like her own parents; her husband, a paragon of virtue and character, much like Lord Rama. She yearned for happiness to encompass her. She had sought the marriage with great devotion and prayer, and she had longed to keep her innocent daughter by her side until her last breath, wanting to see her virtuous daughter-in-law happy in the marriage. Thus, she would keep her daughter-in-law in her house. The daughter-in-law would call her “mother”, and she would call her “son”. How deeply affected would one with such hopes be by such cruel and heart-wrenching tales?
Alas. Sushila's dreams shattered. Her hopes withered. She tried to reason with herself, telling herself, "Everything will be alright. Once Kamalacharan grows up, he will abandon his bad habits." But every wound failed to heal, as new incidents continued to surface. And so the blows continued. Alas. What fate awaited Virjan? Could this ideal woman, the brightness of my home, the soul of my being, spend her life with such a flawed man? Would my beloved be subjected to such a harsh existence? At these thoughts, Sushila would weep for hours, unable to contain her sorrow. Previously, she would occasionally scold Virjan, but now she wouldn't even speak to her. Just the sight of her made her remember her, and she would not let her fade from her sight. If Virjan left for a short while, she would follow her there, it felt like someone was stealing her away. Just as a cow’s every fiber trembles at the sight of a butcher's knife and her calf, Sushila felt the world collapse at the thought of Virjan’s pain. Each moment Virjan was out of her sight brought her the anguish of a mother whose nestling has been snatched away.
The overwhelming anxieties and resentments further weakened her. The constant criticisms weighed heavily on her heart. Not six months had passed before the symptoms of consumption became evident. Initially, she bravely tried to conceal her suffering, but how long could she maintain this charade? Her condition deteriorated, and her strength waned. Getting out of bed became unbearable. Doctors and physicians prescribed remedies. Virjan and Suvama stayed by her bedside, never leaving her sight. Without her presence, Sushila would lapse into unconsciousness, weeping uncontrollably. Munshi Sanjeevanlal initially tried with patience and diligence, but when he saw no improvement and the disease worsened daily, he eventually gave up hope and effort. Years ago, when Suvama was ill, Sushila had tirelessly cared for her. Now, it was Suvama's turn. She diligently fulfilled her duty as a sister and neighbor. She forgot her household chores in her devotion to her ailing companion. Days stretched into weeks, with no opportunity to speak with Pratap. He often went to school without eating, but never uttered a harsh word.
Sushila’s illness had lessened Pratap’s animosity. The fire of hatred intensifies with the flourishing and suffering of the hater, and only subsides when the hater's life flame extinguishes. One day, on learning that Pratap was going to school without breakfast, Vrjarani rushed to his house, urging him to eat. However, Pratap remained distant, showing no inclination to engage. Undoubtedly, he perceived Virjan to be innocent, yet he sought to sever a relationship that was already on the verge of disintegration. Alone, he would weep, yet he held back from expressing his inner turmoil. One day, returning from school, he was seated in his room when Virjan entered. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and she was sobbing deeply. A profound sense of despair and anguish filled her countenance that deeply affected Pratap. With tears in his eyes, he asked, "Why are you crying, Virjan?" Virjan failed to reply, instead breaking into a torrent of sobs. Pratap's resolve weakened. He unhesitatingly rose to wipe her tears. Virjan, regaining her voice, said, "Lal, Mother won't live much longer. What am I to do?" Her words were punctuated by further sobs.
Upon hearing this news, Pratap was stunned. He ran to Virjan's house and stood beside Sushila's bed, weeping. What a precious moment our end brings. It brings in those who previously wouldn't look at us, and who were beyond any other worldly force’s reach. Yes, this time is powerful, it subjugates formidable foes. It gives victory even over enemies we previously could not overcome, even at the point of death. After a whole year, Pratap had finally returned to this house. Sushila's eyes were closed, but her face radiated like a blossoming lotus in the morning. Since dawn, she had been repeating, “Show him Lal.” Suvama had sent Virjan for this very purpose.
Suvama said, "Sister, open your eyes. Lal is here."
Sushila opened her eyes and extended her arms, overflowing with affection. Pratap’s final vestiges of resentment melted away. Any vestiges of animosity during such a time would make a person unworthy of being called human. Pratap, filled with filial affection, approached and embraced Sushila. They wept together for half an hour. Sushila held him tightly, as if he were about to run away. He was chastising himself for being the reason for her suffering, for succumbing to jealousy, for being the cause of this terrible situation. With each thought, tears streamed down his face. Eventually, Sushila said, "Lal, I will be here for only a few more days. Forgive me for any harsh words I may have said."
Pratap could not speak. Sushila continued, "I do not understand why you are angry with me. You do not come to my house, you do not speak to me. My heart aches to see you. Yet, you don’t seem to care about me. Why are you angry with your poor sister?" She confessed, "My dear child, I have always considered you my own son. Seeing you would fill my heart with joy." Her voice weakened, like a bird's song fading into the vast expanse of the horizon; only a whisper remained.
And so ends the inspiring story of a great writer, Munshi Premchand. This story teaches us many valuable lessons. The entire subkuz team strives to bring our readers daily inspiring stories. Continue to read more such motivating and insightful stories at subkuz.com.
