Premchand Munshi

In a village of Chandpur Munshi Ramsevak was a very rich man. He could be seen every day seated on a broken bench under a neem tree within the precincts of the open- I~ air small-pleas court. Nobody had ever seen him presenting a brief before the tribunal or arguing a case; but everyone called him 'attorney'. Whenever he made his way to the open court the villagers crowded after him. He was regarded by everyone with respect and trust, and he was renowned for possessing the eloquence of the divine Saraswati herself.

My big brother was five years older than me but only three grades ahead. He'd begun his studies at the same age I had but he didn't I like the idea of moving hastily in an important matter like education. He wanted to lay a firm foundation for that great edifice, so he took two years to do one year's work; sometimes he even took three. If the foundations weren't well-made, how could the edifice endure?

Halku came in and said to his wife, “The Landlord’s come! Get the rupees you set aside, I’ll give him the money. Munni had been sweeping. She turned around and said, 'But there's only three rupees. If you give them to him where's the blanket going to come from? How are you going to get through these January nights in the fields! Tell him we'll pay him after the harvest, not right now.

Well it’s like this: early in the morning I finish off my bath and my prayers, paint a vermillion circle on ;my forehead, get into my yellow robe and wooden sandals, tuck my astrological charts under my arm, grab hold of my stick a regular skull-cracker--and start out for a client's house. I was supposed to settle the right day for a wedding; it was going to earn me at least a rupee. Over and above the breakfast. And my breakfast is no ordinary breakfast. Common clerks don't have the courage to invite me to a meal. A whole month of breakfasts for them is just one day's meal for me.

Jhuri the vegetable farmer had two bullocks named Hira and Moti. Both were of fine Pachai stock, of great stature, beautiful to behold, and diligent at their labours. The two had lived together for a very long time and become sworn brothers. Face to face or side by side they would hold discussions in their silent language. How each understood the other’s thoughts we cannot say, but they certainly possessed some mysterious power. They would express their love by licking and sniffing one another,

In Banaras District there is a village called Bira in which an old, childless widow used to live. She was a Gond woman named Bhungi and she didn't own either a scrap of land or a house to live in. Her only source of livelihood was a parching oven. The village folk customarily have one meal a day of parched grains, so there was always a crowd around Bhungi's oven.

At the door of the hut father and son sat silently by a burnt-out fire; inside, the son's young wife Budhiya lay in labor, writhing with pain. And from time to time such a heart-rending scream emerged from her lips that they both pressed their hands to their hearts. It was a winter night; everything was drowned in desolation. The whole village had been absorbed into the darkness. Ghisu said, "It seems she won't live. She's been writhing in pain the whole day. Go on-- see how she is." Madhav said in a pained tone, "If she's going to die, then why doesn't she go ahead and die? What's the use of going to see?"

There were four peons in my office, and one of them was named Gharib. He was really simple, very obedient, deft in his job, silent even when rebuked. True to his name[1], he was a poor, humble fellow. It had been about a year since I came to this office, and I had never seen him miss a day at work. I was so used to seeing him sitting on his torn down mat every morning at nine, that it seemed he was a part of the building. He was so nice that he did not refuse anyone anything. Another peon was a Muslim. The whole office was afraid of him; I am not sure why. In my opinion, the only reason for this was his boastfulness.