Friends, our nation has, for centuries, been a cradle for great men and women – sages, poets, writers, musicians, and many more, brimming with virtues. The countless creations penned by these individuals are invaluable treasures. Today's youth, in this digital age, seem lost, drifting further and further from our heritage and precious legacy. Subkuz.com constantly strives to connect you with these invaluable treasures, alongside entertaining stories, news, and global insights. Presented before you is a timeless tale, deeply inspiring, penned by the esteemed author, Munshi Premchand.
The Beedi-Roller
The day a beedi shop opened across the street from my house, I was overjoyed. For a full furlong in either direction, there was no such shop, and I had to make numerous trips to the crossroads. Often, I'd have to stand there for minutes, caught in the throng of customers at that busy intersection. This wait was irksome. When I first developed a craving for beedis, and how, I can't quite recall; but if someone kept providing them, I might not decline.
A significant, if not substantial, portion of my earnings was always spent on beedis. I'd often resolved to purchase a beedi-case, but that felt like an insurmountable task, much like buying an elephant. Even if I managed to procure one, it's not as if a beedi-case is a wishing well, where beedis just appear at will. Acquiring beedis from the market, preparing them five times a day, wetting them, separating the spoiled bits – was it a simple chore? I've always observed women in wealthy households deeply involved in maintaining and managing their beedi cases. Were I capable of enduring such effort, I might have been a different man. Even if that were possible, who would prepare the areca nut? Just the sight of the scissors fills me with trepidation. When such a need arises, which cannot be avoided, I resort to breaking it with a hammer, but using scissors is out of the question. Seeing someone else prepare the areca nut is no less astonishing than watching someone dance on the edge of a sword. And if even that hurdle were overcome, who would achieve the ultimate objective? Mixing the catechu and lime equally – is this a straightforward task? Honestly, I'm not adept at it. If these people make mistakes daily in this matter, and they are indeed masters of this art, then what am I, a radish from a different field? If the vendor applied too much lime, the vendor would add more catechu, and the customer would reprimand them for their error, wiping away their tears.
The real trouble arises when visiting a friend's home. A beedi arrives, and beyond swallowing a fly intentionally, or knowingly gulping down a dose of poison, what other recourse is there? One cannot complain, as politeness is a constraint. Sometimes, the instant a beedi touches one's mouth, it feels as if a spark has fallen on the tongue, or someone has poured hot mercury down the throat; yet one has to endure. It's difficult to comprehend how one could make such a significant error. I may be clumsy, but I never add too much lime, although a few blisters do appear. Thus, I conclude that this is the expression of the inner household's displeasure. Why should they protest against your transgressions? They are not receptive to a silent boycott; what other weapon do they wield? Frowns, rebukes, and quips have no effect when you have reddened eyes, clenched fists, and angrily demanding why breakfast wasn't ready when it should have been! Apart from applying more salt to the dish and lime to the beedi, what other means do they have for retaliation? Well, one day I went to the beedi vendor early in the morning, but she wasn't as prompt in fulfilling my request.
She rolled the beedi for a moment, then went inside and came out with some spice. I was pleased that she was carefully preparing the beedis today. But she continued to watch the street, her eyes searching for customers. What customers? The customer was her neighbor, who visited her shop dozens of times a day. Then, a little annoyed, I said, "How long have I been waiting? Don't you care?"
The beedi-roller said apologetically, "Yes, sir, you've been waiting a long time, but please wait just a moment. Forgive me, sir, your beedi-rolling isn't very good. Yesterday, your beedis sold for a total of six annas. The day before yesterday, your beedis generated eight annas. A few days earlier, Panditji's beedis brought in two and a half rupees by midday. Sometimes, no one's beedi-rolling is consistent, sir!"
I felt a stab of despair. I have no remedy for my misfortune. There's no one in the world more unfortunate than me. I may not be the emperor of this empire, but I am certainly a high-ranking officer. But I could never bear the shame of this bad luck. I could not bear to have my rolling beedis criticized, for people to consider my face a bad omen in the morning; this would be a terrible disgrace.
I took my beedis, but I made a firm resolve to eliminate this bad omen. I had just sat down in my room when a friend came by. They were on their way to the market to buy vegetables. I praised my beedi vendor to the skies. This gentleman was a connoisseur of beauty and a comedian. With a mischievous look, he said, "Right now, I have no money and no need for beedis." I replied, "Give me the money."
"Yes, agreed, but don't ever nag me about it."
"That's a tough deal."
"Do you want to appear shameless before everyone?"
(and so on...) ``` ... (The remaining content will continue in subsequent sections, as it exceeds the token limit.)
