Friends, our country has for centuries been the birthplace and abode of countless great personalities brimming with virtues – sages, poets, writers, musicians, and many more. The thousands of works created by these luminaries are invaluable. Today's youth, in this digital age, seem to be losing touch with their heritage, drifting further and further from this precious treasure trove. subkuz.com consistently strives to bring you these invaluable treasures alongside entertaining stories, news, and information from India and around the world. Presented here is one such invaluable and inspiring story by Munshi Premchand.
The Tale of Two Bulls
Among animals, the donkey is considered the most unintelligent. When we want to call someone a complete fool, we call them a donkey. Whether the donkey is truly foolish, or its simple nature and harmless tolerance have earned it this title, cannot be definitively ascertained. Cows butt with their horns; a mother cow, especially, can become ferocious unexpectedly. A dog is a poor animal too, but even it sometimes gets angry. However, a donkey has never been heard or seen expressing anger. Beat the poor creature as much as you want, or offer it the most inferior, rotten grass, you will never see a trace of displeasure on its face. While it might bray occasionally in the heat of summer, we have never seen it happy. A perpetual sadness seems etched on its face, unchanging in happiness or sorrow, gain or loss. It possesses all the virtues of sages to the utmost degree, yet man calls it a fool. Such disrespect for virtue is unheard of. Perhaps straightforwardness is not suited to this world.
Consider, why do Indians face hardship in Africa? Why are they not allowed entry into America? The poor don't drink alcohol, save every penny for a rainy day, work tirelessly, avoid fights and quarrels, and fret over trivial matters—yet they are reviled. It is said they demean the ideals of life. If they too learned to fight fire with fire, perhaps they would be considered civilized. The example of Japan is before us. A single victory elevated it to the ranks of the world's civilized nations. But the donkey has a younger sibling, almost as foolish, and that is the bull. In the sense we use the word "donkey," we use the phrase "the bull's maternal uncle" similarly. Some might consider the bull the best among fools, but that is not our opinion. Bulls sometimes fight, sometimes display stubbornness, and in many other ways show their discontent; therefore, its place is lower than the donkey's.
The names of Jhuri Kachhi's two bulls were Hira and Moti. Both were of the Pachhai breed—handsome in appearance, diligent in work, and tall in stature. Living together for many years, a deep brotherhood had formed between them. Seated opposite or near each other, they would communicate silently, exchanging thoughts through a language beyond human comprehension. How they understood each other's thoughts, we cannot say. They must have possessed some secret power that humans, who claim superiority over all creatures, lack. They would express affection by licking and sniffing each other, sometimes even touching horns—not in aggression, but in playfulness, in camaraderie, like the friendly banter between close friends. Without this, friendship remains frail and untrustworthy.
When these two bulls were yoked to the plough or cart, and walked with swaying necks, each would strive to bear the greater burden. After a day's work, in the afternoon or evening, once unyoked, they would lick each other to soothe their tiredness. After the fodder was placed in the manger, they would rise together, dip their heads into it simultaneously, and sit together. If one pulled its head back, the other would do so as well. By chance, Jhuri once sent his daughter-in-law to her parents' home. The bulls didn't know why they were being sent. They understood they were being sold. Whether they felt good or bad about being sold, who knows? But Jhuri's brother-in-law was drenched in sweat getting his sister-in-law home. If he urged them from behind, they would run to the sides; if he pulled from the front, they would push back. If he beat them, they would lower their horns and snort.
If God had given them speech, they would have asked Jhuri: "Why are you separating us, poor creatures? We have left no stone unturned in serving you. If our efforts were insufficient, and you still needed our service, we would have gladly died serving you. We never complained about food or fodder. We ate whatever you gave, with our heads bowed. Then why did you sell us to this cruel man?" In the evening, the two bulls reached their new home. Hungry after a whole day, yet when they were led to the manger, neither ate. Their hearts were heavy. The place they considered home was now lost to them. This new house, new village, new people, all felt alien.
They conferred in their silent language, looked at each other with their ears, and lay down. When the village fell asleep, they broke their ropes with a mighty effort and set off for home. The ropes were very b, and it was unimaginable that a bull could break them; yet, a double strength had come over these two. The ropes snapped with a single jerk. When Jhuri awoke in the morning, he saw both bulls standing near the cattle shed. Half of the yoke hung from each of their necks. Their legs were mud-caked up to the knees, and a rebellious affection shone in their eyes.
Jhuri was overcome with affection at the sight of his bulls. He ran to embrace them. The scene of affectionate embrace and kisses was truly heartwarming. The children of the house and village gathered, clapping and welcoming them. Though not unprecedented, the incident was significant in the village's history. The children's assembly decided to present a congratulatory letter to these animal heroes. Some brought bread from their homes, others jaggery, some bran, and others chaff.
One child said, "No one else will have such bulls."
Another supported him, "Both came alone from so far."
A third said, "They aren't bulls; they are men in animal form."
No one dared to contradict this.
When Jhuri's wife saw the bulls at the door, she was enraged. She said, "What ungrateful bulls! They didn't work for a single day and ran away."
Jhuri could not bear this accusation against his bulls. "Why ungrateful? If they weren't given fodder, what would they have done?"
His wife said with authority, "Only you know how to feed the bulls; everyone else just keeps them watered."
Jhuri taunted, "If they got fodder, why did they run away?"
His wife retorted angrily, "They ran away because people don't pet bulls like you fools do. They feed them, but also work them hard. These two are lazy, they ran away. Now let's see? Where will we get bran and chaff from? I'll give them nothing but dry straw; let them eat it or die."
And so it happened. The laborer was strictly instructed to feed the bulls only dry straw.
The bulls put their mouths into the manger, but it was tasteless—no smoothness, no juice. What to eat? With hopeful eyes, they looked towards the door.
Jhuri said to the laborer, "Why don't you add a little bran?"
"The mistress will kill me."
"Slip some in secretly."
"No, sir. You'll tell on me too."
The next day, Jhuri's brother-in-law came again and took the bulls away. This time he yoked them to a cart.
Moti tried a couple of times to overturn the cart into a roadside ditch, but Hira held it steady. He was more patient.
Reaching home in the evening, he tied them with thick ropes and made them suffer for their mischief. Then he gave them the same dry straw. He fed his two bulls with bran, and everything else.
The two bulls had never been so insulted. Jhuri never even touched them with a flower stick. At his slightest scolding, they would jump. Here, they were beaten. The pain of hurt pride was compounded by the dry straw!
They wouldn't even look at the manger.
The next day, Gaya yoked the bulls to the plough, but they seemed to have vowed not to move. He got tired of beating them, but they didn't budge. Once, when the merciless man beat Hira's nose severely, Moti's anger exploded. He ran off with the plough—the plough, ropes, yoke, all broken and scattered. If it weren't for the thick ropes around their necks, they wouldn't have been caught.
Hira said silently, "Running is futile."
Moti replied, "He almost killed you."
"We'll be beaten badly now."
"Let us be. Since we were born bulls, how long can we escape beatings?"
"Gaya is running towards us with two men; they have sticks in their hands."
Moti said, "Tell me, and I'll show them some fun too. He's coming with a stick."
Hira reasoned, "No, brother! Stand still."
"If he hits me, I'll knock a couple of them down."
"No. That's not our way."
Moti remained resentful inside. Gaya arrived and caught them both, taking them away. It was fortunate he didn't beat them then, otherwise, Moti would have retaliated. Seeing their demeanor, Gaya and his assistant understood that it was best to avoid a fight. The same dry straw was brought before them. They stood silently. The household members began to eat. At that time, a little girl came out with two pieces of bread and fed them, then went away. Those two pieces of bread didn't satisfy their hunger, but they felt as though their hearts had been fed. There was kindness even here. The girl was Bhairo's daughter. Her mother was dead, and her stepmother used to beat her, so she felt a kind of kinship with the bulls.
They were yoked all day, taking beatings, resisting. In the evening, they were tied to the shed, and at night, the girl would feed them two pieces of bread. This offering of love had such power that, despite eating dry straw twice daily, they didn't weaken. Yet, rebellion filled their eyes and every fiber of their being.
One day, Moti said silently, "I can't bear it any longer, Hira!"
"What do you want to do?"
"I'll toss one or two up in the air with my horns."
"But you know, that sweet girl who feeds us, she's the daughter of the owner of this house. Won't she be orphaned?"
"Then I won't toss the mistress. She's the one who beats the girl."
"But it is forbidden to use horns against women, have you forgotten?"
"You never let me get away with anything. Tell me, should we break the ropes and run away?"
"Yes, I agree, but how will we break such thick ropes?"
"There's a way. First, chew the ropes a little. Then they'll break in one go."
That night, after the girl fed them and left, they began to chew the ropes, but the thick ropes wouldn't fit in their mouths. The poor creatures repeatedly strained themselves in vain.
Suddenly, the house door opened, and the girl came out. They lowered their heads, licking her hands. Their tails stood on end.
She stroked their foreheads and said, "I'll untie you. Escape secretly, otherwise, the people here will kill you. There's a discussion in the house about putting rings in your noses."
She untied the yokes, but they stood still.
Moti asked in their language, "Why aren't we going?"
Hira said, "Let's go, but tomorrow misfortune will befall that orphan. Everyone will suspect her."
Suddenly, the girl shouted, "Uncle's bulls are running away! Grandpa! The bulls are running away, run quickly!"
Gaya rushed out of the house and ran after the bulls. They ran. Gaya chased them. They ran even faster. Gaya shouted. Then he went back to the house to get some villagers to help. The two friends had a chance to escape. They ran straight ahead, even losing their way. They didn't recognize the familiar path they had come from. They came across new villages. Then they stopped at the edge of a field to think about what to do next.
Hira said, "It seems we've lost our way."
"You ran too fast. We should have knocked her down."
"If we had knocked her down, what would the world have said? She can abandon her duty, but why should we abandon ours?"
This was an inspiring story by the great writer Munshi Premchand. We can learn many new things from this story. The entire subkuz team strives to bring inspiring stories to our visitors every day. Keep reading such inspiring and insightful stories on subkuz.com.
