Jimmy Valentine / A Retrieved Reformation - Full Text

JIMMY VALENTINE / A RETRIEVED REFORMATION  

A guard came to the prison shoe-shop, where Jimmy Valentine was assiduously stitching uppers, and escorted him to the front office. There the warden handed Jimmy his pardon, which had been signed that morning by the governor. Jimmy took it in a tired kind of way. He had served nearly ten months of a four-year sentence. He had expected to stay only about three months, at the longest. When a man with as many friends on the outside as Jimmy Valentine had is received in the "stir" it is hardly worth while to cut his hair.

"Now, Valentine," said the warden, "you'll go out in the morning. Brace up, and make a man of yourself. You're not a bad fellow at heart. Stop cracking safes, and live straight."

"Me?" said Jimmy in surprise. "Why, I never cracked a safe in my life."

"Oh, no," laughed the warden. "Of course not. Let's see, now. How was it you happened to get sent up on that Springfield job? Was it because you wouldn't prove an alibi for fear of compromising somebody in extremely high-toned society? Or was it simply a case of a mean old jury that had it in for you? It's always one or the other with you innocent victims."

"Me?" said Jimmy, still blankly virtuous. "Why, warden, I never was in Springfield in my life!"

"Take him back, Cronin," smiled the warden, "and fix him up with out-going clothes. Unlock him at seven in the morning, and let him come to the bull-pen. Better think over my advice, Valentine."

At a quarter past seven on the next morning Jimmy stood in the warden's outer office. He had on a suit of the villainously fitting, readymade clothes and a pair of the stiff, squeaky shoes that the state furnishes to its discharged compulsory guests.

The clerk handed him a railroad ticket and the five-dollar bill with which the law expected him to rehabilitate himself into good citizenship and prosperity. The warden gave him a cigar, and shook hands. Valentine, 9762, was chronicled on the books "Pardoned by Governor," and Mr. James Valentine walked out into the sunshine.

Disregarding the song of the birds, the waving green trees, and the smell of the flowers, Jimmy headed straight for a restaurant. There he tasted the first sweet joys of liberty in the shapes of a broiled chicken and a bottle of white wine-followed by a cigar a grade better than the one the warden had given him. From there he proceeded leisurely to the depot. He tossed a quarter into the hat of a blind man sitting by the door, and boarded his train. Three hours set him down in a little town near the state line. He went to the café of one Mike Dolan and shook hands with Mike, who was alone behind the bar.

"Sorry we couldn't make it sooner, Jimmy, me boy," said Mike. "But we had that protest from Springfield to buck against, and the governor nearly balked. Feeling all right?"

"Fine," said Jimmy. "Got my key?"

He got his key and went upstairs, unlocking the door of a room at the rear. Everything was just as he had left it. There on the floor was still Ben Price's collar-button that had been torn from that eminent detective's shirt-band when they had overpowered Jimmy to arrest him.

Pulling out from the wall a folding-bed, Jimmy slid back a panel in the wall and dragged out a dust-covered suit-case. He opened this and gazed fondly at the finest set of burglar's tools in the East. It was a complete set, made of specially tempered steel, the latest designs in drills, punches, braces and bits, jimmies, clamps, and augers, with two or three novelties invented by Jimmy himself, in which he took pride. Over nine hundred dollars they had cost him to have made at-, a place where they make such things for the profession.

In half an hour Jimmy went downstairs and through the café. He was now dressed in tasteful and well-fitting clothes, and carried his dusted and cleaned suit-case in his hand.

"Got anything on?" asked Mike Dolan, genially. "Me?" said Jimmy, in a puzzled tone. "I don't understand. I'm representing the New York Amalgamated Short Snap Biscuit Cracker and Frazzled Wheat Company."

This statement delighted Mike to such an extent that Jimmy had to take a seltzer-and-milk on the spot. He never touched "hard" drinks.

A week after the release of Valentine, 9762, there was a neat job of safe-burglary done in Richmond, Indiana, with no clue to the author. A scant eight hundred dollars was all that was secured. Two weeks after that a patented, improved, burglar-proof safe in Logansport was opened like a cheese to the tune of fifteen hundred dollars, currency; securities and silver untouched. That began to interest the rogue catchers. Then an old-fashioned bank-safe in Jefferson City became active and threw out of its crater an eruption of bank-notes amounting to five thousand dollars. The losses were now high enough to bring the matter up into Ben Price's class of work. By comparing notes, a remarkable similarity in the methods of the burglaries was noticed. Ben Price investigated the scenes of the robberies, and was heard to remark:

"That's Dandy Jim Valentine's autograph, He's resumed business. Look at that combination knob - jerked out as easy as pulling up a radish in wet weather. He's got the only clamps that can do it. And look how clean those tumblers were punched out! Jimmy never has to drill but one hole. Yes, I guess I want Mr. Valentine. He'll do his bit next time without any short-time or clemency foolishness."

Ben Price knew Jimmy's habits. He had learned them while working up the Springfield case. Long jumps, quick get-aways, no confederates, and a taste for good society - these ways had helped Mr. Valentine to become noted as a successful dodger of retribution. It was given out that Ben Price had taken up the trail of the elusive cracksman, and other people with burglar-proof safes felt more at ease.

One afternoon Jimmy Valentine and his suit-case climbed out of the mail-hack in Elmore, a little town five miles off the railroad down in the black-jack country of Arkansas. Jimmy, looking like an athletic young senior just home from college, went down the board sidewalk toward the hotel.

A young lady crossed the street, passed him at the corner and entered a door over which was the sign "The Elmore Bank." Jimmy Valentine looked into her eyes, forgot what he was, and became another man. She lowered her eyes and coloured slightly. Young men of Jimmy's style and looks were scarce in Elmore.

Jimmy collared a boy that was loafing on the steps of the bank as if he were one of the stock-holders, and began to ask him questions about the town, feeding him dimes at intervals. By and by the young lady came out, looking royally unconscious of the young man with the suit-case, and went her way.

"Isn't that young lady Miss Polly Simpson?" asked Jimmy, with specious guile.

"Naw," said the boy. "She's Annabel Adams. Her pa owns this bank. What'd you come to Elmore for? Is that a gold watch-chain? I'm going to get a bulldog. Got any more dimes?"

Jimmy went to the Planters' Hotel, registered as Ralph D. Spencer, and engaged a room. He leaned on the desk and declared his platform to the clerk. He said he had come to Elmore to look for a location to go into business. How was the shoe business, now, in the town? He had thought of the shoe business. Was there an opening?

The clerk was impressed by the clothes and manner of Jimmy. He, himself, was something of a pattern of fashion to the thinly gilded youth of Elmore, but he now perceived his shortcomings. While trying to figure out Jimmy's manner of tying his four-in-hand he cordially gave information.

Yes, there ought to be a good opening in the shoe line. There wasn't an exclusive shoe-store in the place. The dry-goods and general stores handled them. Business in all lines was fairly good. Hoped Mr. Spencer would decide to locate in Elmore. He would find it a pleasant town to live in, and the people very sociable.

Mr. Spencer thought he would stop over in the town a few days and look over the situation. No, the clerk needn't call the boy. He would carry up his suit-case himself; it was rather heavy.

Mr. Ralph Spencer, the phœnix that arose from Jimmy Valentine's ashes - ashes left by the flame of a sudden and alterative attack of love - remained in Elmore, and prospered. He opened a shoe-store and secured a good run of trade.

Socially he was also a success, and made many friends. And he accomplished the wish of his heart. He met Miss Annabel Adams, and became more and more captivated by her charms.

At the end of a year the situation of Mr. Ralph Spencer was this: he had won the respect of the community, his shoe-store was flourishing, and he and Annabel were engaged to be married in two weeks. Mr. Adams, the typical, plodding, country banker, approved of Spencer. Annabel's pride in him almost equaled her affection. He was as much at home in the family of Mr. Adams and that of Annabel's married sister as if he were already a member.

One day Jimmy sat down in his room and wrote this letter, which he mailed to the safe address of one of his old friends in St. Louis:

Dear Old Pal,-

I want you to be at Sullivan's place, in Little Rock, next Wednesday night, at nine o'clock. I want you to wind up some little matters for me. And, also, I want to make you a present of my kit of tools. I know you'll be glad to get them - you couldn't duplicate the lot for a thousand dollars. Say, Billy, I've quit the old business - a year ago. I've got a nice store. I'm making an honest living, and I'm going to marry the finest girl on earth two weeks from now. It's the only life, Billy - the straight one. I wouldn't touch a dollar of another man's money now for a million. After I get married I'm going to sell out and go West, where there won't be so much danger of having old scores brought up against me. I tell you, Billy, she's an angel. She believes in me; and I wouldn't do another crooked thing for the whole world. Be sure to be at Sully's, for I must see you. I'll bring along the tools with me.

Your old friend,

Jimmy.

On the Monday night after Jimmy wrote this letter, Ben Price jogged unobtrusively into Elmore in a livery buggy. He lounged about town in his quiet way until he found out what he wanted to know. From the drug-store across the street from Spencer's shoe-store he got a good look at Ralph D. Spencer.

"Going to marry the banker's daughter, are you, Jimmy?" said Ben to himself, softly. "Well, I don't know!"

The next morning Jimmy took breakfast at the Adamses. He was going to Little Rock that day to order his wedding-suit and buy something nice for Annabel. That would be the first time he had left town since he came to Elmore. It had been more than a year now since those last professional "jobs," and he thought he could safely venture out.

After breakfast quite a family party went down-town together - Mr. Adams, Annabel, Jimmy, and Annabel's married sister with her two little girls, aged five and nine. They came by the hotel where Jimmy still boarded, and he ran up to his room and brought along his suit-case. Then they went on to the bank. There stood Jimmy's horse and buggy and Dolph Gibson, who was going to drive him over to the railroad station.

All went inside the high, carved oak railings into the banking-room - Jimmy included, for Mr. Adam's future son-in-law was welcome anywhere. The clerks were pleased to be greeted by the good-looking, agreeable young man who was going to marry Miss Annabel. Jimmy set her suit-case down. Annabel, whose heart was bubbling with happiness and lively youth, put on Jimmy's hat, and picked up the suit-case. "Wouldn't I make a nice drummer?" said Annabel. "My! Ralph, how heavy it is? Feels like it was full of gold bricks."

"Lot of nickel-plated shoe-horns in there," said Jimmy coolly, "that I'm going to return. Thought I'd save express charges by taking them up. I'm getting awfully economical."

The Elmore Bank had just put in a new safe and vault. Mr. Adams was very proud of it, and insisted on an inspection by every one. The vault was a small one, but it had a new, patented door. It fastened with three solid steel bolts thrown simultaneously with a single handle, and had a time-lock. Mr. Adams beamingly explained its workings to Mr. Spencer, who showed a courteous but not too intelligent interest. The two children, May and Agatha, were delighted by the shinning metal and funny clock and knobs.

While they were thus engaged Ben Price sauntered in and leaned on his elbow, looking casually inside between the railings. He told the teller that he didn't want anything; he was just waiting for a man he knew.

Suddenly there was a scream or two from the women, and a commotion. Unperceived by the elders, May, the nine-year-old girl, in a spirit of play, had shut Agatha in the vault. She had then shot the bolts and turned the knob of the combination as she had seen Mr. Adams do.

The old banker sprang to the handle and tugged at it for a moment. "The door can't be opened," he groaned. "The clock hasn't been wound nor the combination set."

Agatha's mother screamed again, hysterically.

"Hush!" said Mr. Adams, raising his trembling hand. "All be quiet for a moment. Agatha!" he called as loudly as he could. "Listen to me." During the following silence they could just hear the faint sound of the child wildly shrieking in the dark vault in a panic of terror.

"My precious darling!" wailed the mother. "She will die of fright! Open the door! Oh, break it open! Can't you men do something?"

"There isn't a man nearer than Little Rock who can open that door," said Mr. Adams, in a shaky voice. "My God! Spencer, what shall we do? That child - she can't stand it long in there. There isn't enough air, and, besides, she'll go into convulsions from fright."

Agatha's mother, frantic now, beat the door of the vault with her hands. Somebody wildly suggested dynamite. Annabel turned to Jimmy, her large eyes full of anguish, but not yet despairing. To a woman nothing seems quite impossible to the powers of the man she worships.

"Can't you do something, Ralph - try, won't you?"

He looked at her with a queer, soft smile on his lips and in his keen eyes.

"Annabel," he said, "give me that rose you are wearing, will you?"

Hardly believing that she heard him aright, she unpinned the bud from the bosom of her dress, and placed it in his hand. Jimmy stuffed it into his vest-pocket, threw off his coat and pulled up his shirt-sleeves. With that act Ralph D. Spencer passed away and Jimmy Valentine took his place.

"Get away from the door, all of you," he commanded, shortly.

He set his suit-case on the table, and opened it out flat. From that time on he seemed to be unconscious of the presence of anyone else. He laid out the shining, queer implements swiftly and orderly, whistling softly to himself as he always did when at work. In a deep silence and immovable, the others watched him as if under a spell.

In a minute Jimmy's pet drill was biting smoothly into the steel door. In ten minutes - breaking his own burglarious record - he threw back the bolts and opened the door.

Agatha, almost collapsed, but safe, was gathered into her mother's arms.

Jimmy Valentine put on his coat, and walked outside the railings toward the front door. As he went he thought he heard a far-away voice that he once knew call "Ralph!" But he never hesitated.

At the door a big man stood somewhat in his way.

"Hello, Ben!" said Jimmy, still with his strange smile. "Got around at last, have you? Well, let's go. I don't know that it makes much difference, now."

And then Ben Price acted rather strangely.

"Guess you're mistaken, Mr. Spencer," he said. "Don't believe I recognize you. Your buggy's waiting for you, ain't it?"

And Ben Price turned and strolled down the street.

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Critical Analysis of Leela's Friend

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 Introduction

R.K. Narayan's short story "Leela's Friend" taken from his noted "Malgudi Days" is a simple tale of Indian middle class family. In the story, we have the variety of themes like injustice, class conflict, betrayal of trust, exploitation, innocence and simplicity of the central character. The friendship of two humans of  uneven age and class is the essence of the short story. The story demands our active attention of analytical mind over the pre-existing social culture prevailing in the then Indian society.

About the Author

Rasipuram Krishnaswami Iyer Narayanaswami (10 October 1906 – 13 May 2001), commonly known as R. K. Narayan, was an Indian writer known for his work set in the fictional South Indian town of Malgudi. He was a leading author of early Indian literature in English along with Mulk Raj Anand and Raja Rao.

Reared by his grandmother, Narayan completed his education in 1930 and briefly worked as a teacher before deciding to devote himself to writing. His first novel, Swami and Friends (1935), is an episodic narrative recounting the adventures of a group of schoolboys. Narayan's mentor and friend Graham Greene was instrumental in getting publishers for Narayan's first four books including the semi-autobiographical trilogy of Swami and Friends, The Bachelor of Arts and The English Teacher. The fictional town of Malgudi was first introduced in Swami and Friends. The Financial Expert was hailed as one of the most original works of 1951 and Sahitya Academy Award winner The Guide was adapted for the film (winning a Filmfare Award for Best Film) and for Broadway.

Narayan highlights the social context and everyday life of his characters. He typically portrays the peculiarities of human relationships and the ironies of Indian daily life, in which modern urban existence clashes with ancient tradition. His style is graceful, marked by genial humour, elegance, and simplicity. He has been compared to William Faulkner who created a similar fictional town and likewise explored with humor and compassion the energy of ordinary life. Narayan's short stories have been compared with those of Guy de Maupassant because of his ability to compress a narrative.

Among the best-received of Narayan’s 34 novels are The English Teacher (1945), Waiting for the Mahatma (1955), The Guide (1958), The Man-Eater of Malgudi (1961), The Vendor of Sweets (1967), and A Tiger for Malgudi (1983). Narayan also wrote a number of short stories; collections include Lawley Road (1956), A Horse and Two Goats and Other Stories (1970), Under the Banyan Tree and Other Stories (1985), and The Grandmother’s Tale (1993). In addition to works of nonfiction (chiefly memoirs), he also published shortened modern prose versions of two Indian epics, The Ramayana (1972) and The Mahabharata (1978).

In a career that spanned over sixty years Narayan received many awards and honours including the AC Benson Medal from the Royal Society of Literature, the Padma Vibhushan and the Padma Bhushan, India's second and third highest civilian awards, and in 1994 the Sahitya Akademi Fellowship, the highest honor of India's national academy of letters. He was also nominated to the Rajya Sabha, the upper house of the Indian Parliament.

Summary

Mr. Sivasanker is deeply thinking about his servant-problem. Sidda, a homeless poor boy, comes to his gate just then in search of a job. Sivasanker looks at him and finds nothing objectionable. Yet he asks a few questions about his previous work. He calls then his wife who turns satisfied after meeting the boy. Leela, their five-year old daughter comes out and likes the boy. Sidda is selected on an agreement of two meals a day and four rupees a month. In return he is to wash clothes, tend the garden, run errands, chop wood and look after Leela.

  Sidda is a likeable boy who gets on well with the family. He becomes a good friend with Leela. Sidda and Leela play together with a ball. Sidda throws the ball upward. When the ball comes down, he tells her that the ball has touched the moon. Even he has touched the moon many times from a coconut tree. The innocent girl believes every word of Sidda. She also expresses her desire to touch the moon. She is surprised to see that wherever they move, the moon is there. She claps in joy. Sidda informs her that he really knows the moon which follows up his command.

  At day’s end Leela plays the teacher to Sidda. She tries to teach him with her little knowledge. She writes a letter or draws a kind of cat or crow, and asks him to copy it. But he is a very poor performer. Yet Leela does not give up her effort. She does not allow him to leave his task. The game of teaching goes on for a long time. Sidda gets relief only when he falsely tells her that her mother is calling her to dinner.

Every night Sidda tells a nice story to put Leela to sleep. Day by day he becomes her constant companion. A sweetening relationship is established between them.

  One evening Sidda goes out to buy sugar and Leela accompanies him. When they come home, Leela’s mother noticed that the gold chain around Leela’s neck is missing. Being furious she slaps Leela and calls Sidda at once on suspicion. Sidda defends himself feebly but leaves the house stealthily.

  At this Mr. Sivasanker and his wife are convinced that Sidda is the culprit. He lodges a complaint against him in the Police Station. But Leela is not ready to believe this. She longs for his company. She is deeply sorrowful. She thinks that her parents are responsible for her friend’s leaving their house. The loss of gold chain does not matter to her.

  Mr. Sivasanker learns from the Police Inspector that Sidda has criminal records. He has been in jail for several times for stealing jewellery from children. He assures his wife that the police will arrest Sidda very soon. Four days later, the police Inspector and a constable brings in Sidda. Leela is very happy and runs to meet him. The Inspector stops her and presses Sidda to confess his guilt. Leela’s mother abuses him for his treachery. Sidda only replies that he has not taken the chain.

  The Inspector tells his constable to take him back to the police station. Leela requests him to free Sidda. But nobody listens to her. She starts to shed tears.

  A few days later, Leela’s mother discovers the lost gold chain from a tamarind pot. She comes to know that Leela has dropped it there and forgotten all about it. Mr. Sivasanker learns all and informs the police about the chain’s discovery, but does not allow Sidda to continue his job. Sidda’s position does not improve. He remains a confirmed criminal in his eyes.

The Features

  It is clear from the title Leela’s Friend that the story is about Leela and her friend Sidda. The story brings forth the class-conflict between the high and the low of the society. Sidda becomes the victim of that conflict. Poverty leaves a permanent wound to Sidda’s life. Though he tries to overcome his dark past and is proved guiltless at the end of the story, he is not either allowed to continue his job neither provided with an apology. The so-called society remains indifferent to his sorrows and sufferings.

  Sidda’s punishment is unjust and also a blunder. But the protector of the law escapes counter punishment. This is not a case to Sidda only, but its roots lie in the every sphere of the society making it worse and gloomy. R. K. Narayan has raised his voice to protest against this through the present story. Herein lies his craftsmanship.

Theme

R. K. Narayan, through his simple techniques and lucid language, has dealt with a number of themes in his short-story. How the theme of true friendship between two mortals of different age and section of society grows is clearly expressed. At the same time, Narayan deals with the most prevalent conflict within the society, the class-division of Indian society. It also deals with the trust and the betrayal, the poverty and exploitation, cruelty of masters to their servants. The story also discloses that some past mistakes can destroy present peace of mind and position.

Character Analysis

Sidda

In R. K. Narayan’s short story "Leela’s Friend", Sidda is the main character. His character is described with a number of qualities that uphold him as the central person of the story. Sidda has been referred to in the title of the story. His relationship with the little girl, Leela, is highlighted in the entire story. He was appointed as a servant in the Sivasanker’s house. He works in their house, plays with their little girl, and performs all other stuff to do. He is a responsible servant who takes care of every work. From the very first day Sidda became friend with Sivasanker’s five years old daughter, Leela. Most of the time Sidda had to spend and play with Leela leaving his all works. Sidda always took Leela’s mind in the world of imagination by his incomparable stories. Sidda is very much talented and know how to cajole a five year old girl. Although he is an illiterate person, he has immense power of imagination. Sidda has been accused of taking the gold chain of Leela. But he is an honest Servant.  In the conclusion we may say that Sidda is a good Servant, he has sensibility, honesty, and trust. With these qualities he became a true friend to a little girl. R.K. Narayan artistically turned this ordinary servant into the center of reader’s attention.

Leela

In R.K. Narayan’s short story “Leela’s Friend”, Leela is one of the important characters. Leela is five years old daughter of Mr. Sivasanker. R.K. Narayan describes Leela’s character in many forms of human behavior and qualities. Leela has been presented by R. K. Narayan as an innocent girl. She has no interest for the expensive earthly possession as she remains indifferent to her missing chain. She was very innocent. She believes that Sidda could touch the moon and moon follows to Sidda’s order. Leela is very interested to spend time with Sidda. She always likes to play and listen stories with Sidda. She insists to keep Sidda in their house because of her friendship with him. She trusts Sidda even when her parents consider him a thief. She is a true friend of him. Leela is very enthusiastic girl to play with Sidda. She plays teacher-student game with Sidda. Leela wants to play all the time with him. Leela is very curious girl to know about the sky, god and unknown places. She asks Sidda out of her curiosity whether the moon knows him. She has a big imagination power. Her mind always transcends into the world of imagination when she listens to Sidda’s story of magician, gods in heaven, animal in jungle. In the conclusion we may say that Leela is a very little girl who does not have any kind of class attitudes, her mind is full of imagination, innocence, and curiosity. R. K. Narayan with these qualities turned a little girl more than Friendship.

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Leela's Friend by R K Narayana Complete Text

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Sidda was hanging about the gate at a moment when Mr. Sivasanker was standing in the front veranda of his house brooding over the servant problem.

"Sir, do you want a servant?" Sidda asked.

"Come in" said Mr. Sivasanker.

As Sidda opened the gate and came in, Mr. Sivasanker subjected him to a scrutiny and said to himself,

"Doesn’t seem to be a bad sort. At any rate, the fellow looks tidy."

 "Where were you before?" he asked.

Sidda said, "In a bungalow there," and indicated a vague somewhere, "in the doctor’s house.". "What is his name?". 

"I don’t know master," Sidda said. 

"He lives near the market." 

"Why did they send you away?". "They left the town, master," Sidda said, giving the stock reply.

Mr. Sivasanker was unable to make up his mind. He called his wife. She looked at Sidda and said, "He doesn’t seem to me worse than the others we have had." Leela, their five-year-old daughter, came out, looked at Sidda and gave a cry of joy. "Oh Father!" she said "I like him. Don’t send him away. Let us keep him in our house." And that decided it.

Sidda was given two meals a day and four rupees a month, in return for which he washed clothes, tended the garden, ran errands, chopped wood and looked after Leela.

"Sidda, come and play!" Leela would cry, and Sidda had to drop any work he might be doing and run to her, as she stood in the front garden with a red ball in her hand. His company made her supremely happy. She flung the ball at him and he flung it back. And then she said, "Now throw the ball into the sky." Sidda clutched the ball, closed his eyes for a second and threw the ball up. When the ball came down again, he said, "Now this has touched the moon and come. You see here a little bit of the moon sticking." Leela keenly examined the ball for traces of the moon and said, "I don’t see it."

"You must be very quick about it," said Sidda, "because it will all evaporate and go back to the moon. Now hurry up." He covered the ball tightly with his fingers and allowed her to peep through a little gap.

"Ah yes," said Leela. "I see the moon, but is the moon very wet?"

"Certainly it is," Sidda said.

"What is in the sky, Sidda?"

"God, he said.

"If we stand on the roof and stretch our arms, can we touch the sky?"

"Not if we stand on the roof here," he said. "But if you stand on a coconut tree you can touch the sky."

"Have you done it?" asked Leela.

"Yes, many times" said Sidda. "Whenever there is a big moon, climb a coconut tree and touch it."

"Does the moon know you?"

"Yes, very well. Now come with me. I will show you something nice." They were standing near the rose plant. He said, pointing, "You see the moon there, don’t you?".

"Yes."

"Now come with me," he said, and took her to the backyard. He stopped near the well and pointed up. The moon was there, too. Leela clapped her hands and screamed in wonder, "The moon here! It was there! How is it? "

" I have asked it to follow us about."

Leela ran in and told her mother, "Sidda knows the moon." At dusk he carried her in and she held a class for him. She had a box filled with catalogues, illustrated books and stumps of pencils. It gave her great joy to play the teacher to Sidda. She made him squat on the floor with a pencil between his fingers and a catalogue in front of him. She had another pencil and a catalogue and commanded, "Now write." And he had to try and copy whatever she wrote in the pages of her catalogue. She knew two or three letters of the alphabet and could draw a kind of cat and crow. But none of these could Sidda even remotely copy. She said, examining his effort, "Is this how I have drawn the crow? Is this how I have drawn the B?" She pitied him, and redoubled her efforts to teach him. But that good fellow, though an adept at controlling the moon, was utterly incapable of plying the pencil. Consequently, it looked as though Leela would keep him there, pinned to his seat till his stiff, inflexible wrist cracked. He sought relief by saying, "I think your mother is calling you in to dinner." Leela would drop the pencil and run out of the room, and the school hour would end.

After dinner Leela ran to her bed. Sidda had to be ready with a story. He sat down on the floor near the bed and told incomparable stories: of animals in the jungle, of gods in heaven, of magicians who could conjure up golden castles and fill them with little princesses and their pets....

Day by day she clung closer to him. She insisted upon having his company all her waking hours. She was at his side when he was working in the garden or chopping wood, and accompanied him when he was sent on errands.

One evening he went out to buy sugar and Leela went with him. When they came home, Leela’s mother noticed that a gold chain Leela had been wearing was missing. "Where is your chain?" Leela looked into her shirt, searched and said, "I don’t know." 

Her mother gave her a slap and said, "How many times have I told you to take it off and put it in the box?"

"Sidda! Sidda!” she shouted a moment later. As Sidda came in, Leela’s mother threw a glance at him and thought the fellow already looked queer. She asked him about the chain. His throat went dry. He blinked and answered that he did not know. She mentioned the police and shouted at him. She had to go back into the kitchen for a moment because she had left something in the oven. Leela followed her, whining, “Give me some sugar, Mother, I am hungry.” When they came out again and called "Sidda! Sidda!”  there was no answer. Sidda had vanished into the night.

Mr. Sivasanker came home an hour later, grew very excited over all this, went to the police station and lodged a complaint.

After her meal Leela refused to go to bed. “I won’t sleep unless Sidda comes and tells me stories. I don’t like you. You are always abusing and worrying Sidda. Why are you so rough?

"But he has taken away your chain…”

"Let him. It doesn’t matter. Tell me a story.”

 

"Sleep, sleep ,” said Mother, attempting to make her lie down on her lap.

“Tell me a story, Mother.” Leela said. It was utterly impossible for her mother to think of a story now. Her mind was disturbed. The thought of  Sidda made her panicky. The fellow, with his knowledge of the household, might come in at night and loot. She shuddered to think what a villain she had been harbouring all these  days. It was God’s mercy that he hadn’t killed the child for the chain. “Sleep, Leela, sleep,” she cajoled.

"Can’t you tell the story of the elephant? Leela asked.

 “No.”

Leela made a noise of deprecation and asked, “ Why should not Sidda sit in our chair, Mother?” Mother didn’t answer the question. Leela said a moment later, “Sidda is gone because he wouldn’t be allowed  to sleep inside the house just as we do. Why should he always be made to sleep outside the house, Mother? I think he is angry with us, Mother". By the time Sivasankar returned, Leela had fallen asleep, He said, “What a risk we took in engaging that fellow. It seems he is an old criminal. From the description I gave, the inspector was able to identify him in a moment.”

“The police know his haunts. They will pick him up very soon, don’t worry. The inspector was furious that I didn’t consult him before employing him…”

Four days later, just as Father was coming home from the office, a police inspector and a constable brought in Sidda. Sidda stood with bowed head. Leela was overjoyed.

 “Sidda! Sidda! She cried, and  ran down the steps to meet him.

 

“Don’t go near him.” the inspector said, stopping her

 “Why not?”

 “He is a thief. He has taken away your gold chain.”

“Let him. I will have a new chain.” Leela said., and all of them laughed. And then Mr. Sivasankar  spoke to Sidda and then his wife addressed him with a few words on his treachery. They then asked him where he had put the chain.

“ I have not taken it.” Sidda said, feebly, looking at the ground.

“Why did you run away without telling us?” asked Leela’s mother. There was no answer.  Leela’s  face became red.  “Oh, policeman, leave him alone. I want to play with him.”

 

“My dear child.” Said the police inspector, “ he is a thief.”

“Let him be.” Leela replied haughtily.

 

“ What a devil you must be to steal a thing from such an innocent child!” remarked the inspector. “Even now it is not too late. Return it. I will let you go provided you promise not to do such a thing again.” 

Leela’s father and mother , too, joined in the appeal. Leela  felt disgusted with the whole business.  

“Leave him alone, he hasn’t taken the chain.”  “You are not at all a reliable witness, my child,” observed the inspector humorously.

 

“No, he hasn’t taken it!” Leela screamed.

Her father  said, “Baby, if you don’t behave, I will be angry with you.”

Half an hour later, the inspector said to the constable, “Take him to the station. I think I shall have to sit with him tonight". The constable took Sidda by the hand and turned to go. Leela ran behind them crying.

 

“Don’t take him. Leave him here, leave him here.” Leela clung to Sidda’s hand. He looked at her mutely, like an animal. Mr. Sivasankar carried back Leela into the house. Leela  was in tears.

Every day when Mr. Sivasankar came home he was asked by his wife, “Any news of the jewel?”  and by his daughter, “Where is Sidda?”

 

“They still have him in the lockup, though he is very stubborn and won’t say anything about the jewel,” said Mr. Sivasankar.

“Bah! What a rough fellow he must be!” said his wife with a shiver.

“Oh!, these fellows who have been in jail once or twice lose all fear. Nothing can make them confess.”

A few days later, putting her hand into the tamarind pot in the kitchen Leela’s mother picked up the chain. She took it to the tap and washed off the coating of tamarind on it. It was unmistakably Leela’s chain. When  it was shown to her, Leela said, “Give it here. I want to wear the chain.”

“How did it get into the tamarind pot? Mother asked.

 

“Somehow,” replied Leela.

“Did you put it in?” asked Mother.                                                                                                                                  

 “Yes.”

 

“When?”

 

“Long ago , the other day.”

 

“Why didn’t you say so before?”

When Father came home and  was told, he said, “The child must not have any chain hereafter. Didn’t I tell you that I saw her carrying it in her hand once or twice? She must have dropped it into the pot sometime….And all this bother on account of her”.

 

“What about Sidda?” asked Mother.

 “I will tell the inspector tomorrow… in any case, we couldn’t have kept a criminal like him in the house.”     

 

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Karma - Detailed Analysis

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Introduction

                         “A boomerang returns back to the person that throws it.”

"Karma" is a short-story by renowned Khushwant Singh. It was published in 1989 in Singh's The Collected Stories. It is the story about a so-called Indian Gentleman who always strive to adopt the manners and lifestyle of Upper Class Englishmen such as speaking English with Oxford accent, and about his relation with his wife. It clearly represents a duel of the manners and attitude of the Upper-Class people and the Lower-class people.

About the Author

Khushwant Singh (born Khushal Singh, 2 February 1915 – 20 March 2014) was an Indian author, lawyer, diplomat, journalist and politician. His experience in the 1947 Partition of India inspired him to write "Train to Pakistan" in 1956 (made into film in 1998), which became his most well-known novel.

Though he was born in Punjab, he was educated in Modern School, New Delhi, St. Stephen's College, and graduated from Government College, Lahore. He studied at King's College London and was awarded LL.B. from University of London. He was called to the bar at the London Inner Temple. After working as a lawyer in Lahore High Court for eight years, he joined the Indian Foreign Service upon the Independence of India from British Empire in 1947. He was appointed journalist in the All India Radio in 1951, and then moved to the Department of Mass Communications of UNESCO at Paris in 1956. These last two careers encouraged him to pursue a literary career. As a writer, he was best known for his trenchant secularism,[3] humour, sarcasm and an abiding love of poetry. His comparisons of social and behavioural characteristics of Westerners and Indians are laced with acid wit. He served as the editor of several literary and news magazines, as well as two newspapers, through the 1970s and 1980s. Between 1980-1986 he served as Member of Parliament in Rajya Sabha, the upper house of the Parliament of India.

Khushwant Singh was awarded the Padma Bhushan in 1974; however, he returned the award in 1984 in protest against Operation Blue Star in which the Indian Army raided Amritsar. In 2007 he was awarded the Padma Vibhushan, the second-highest civilian award in India.Singh died of natural causes on 20 March 2014 at his Delhi residence, at the age of 99. His death was mourned by many including the President, Vice-President and Prime Minister of India.

Theme

The theme of arrogance, ignorance, and prejudice is explored throughout Khushwant Singh's short story “Karma” in connection with the main and secondary characters. It is the story of an arrogant Sir Mohan Lal who despises everything Indian and tries to acquire the attitude and manners of English people. He hates his wife Lachmi only because she is a native Indian. But he wants to embrace the arrogant English soldiers as they belong to the King's class. The story is based on the clear contrast of the two types of life, one that most Indian lead and the other the English people lead and some Indians like Sir Mohan who tries hard to follow but fails. The story also deals with the theme of originality and artificiality. Lady Lal represents the original way of Indian lifestyle. On the contrary Sir Mohan Lal stands for the artificial way of life that some Indian tries to lead to look sophisticated and modern. It also deals with the theme of unhappy married life. Sir Mohan represents some of the Diwan Bahadurs of British India who tries to grovel on the English officers and not only hates but tortures their fellow Indians. 

Summary

                The story is about an anglophile named Sir Mohan Lal. An anglophile is a person who is an admirer of everything of England and the English people.  The story begins at a first class waiting room at the railway station. Sir Mohan Lal is found standing before the mirror. The mirror is worn-out and partly broken. He hates the mirror as he hates everything of India. But he admires his own appearance. He looks perfectly like a sahib. The train is yet to come. He calls the bearer and orders a drink.

  Outside the waiting room, Lachmi, his wife is sitting on a small grey steel trunk. She is chewing a betel leaf. She is a traditional Indian woman and is commonly dressed. She requests a coolie to carry her luggage to the end of the platform. She will get into the inter-class woman compartment. She is not allowed to accompany her husband in the first class compartment, because her husband is a high government official, a barrister. He will meet many officials in the compartment. But Lachmi cannot speak English and does not know their ways. Obviously, she cannot travel with her husband. She hardly enjoys the company of her husband. He visits her rarely at night. Then Lachmi plays the role of a passive partner. They have no child.

  The train arrives at the platform. Lachmi enters the inter-class compartment. It is almost empty. She prepares some betel-leaves and starts chewing one.

  There is a lot of noise. Passengers are jostling on the platform. Sir Mohan Lal totally detests them. He is calm and quiet. He is still enjoying his drink. He has spent five years in Oxford University. He strictly follows the manners of the English. He rarely speaks Hindustani. He speaks in English with a foreign accent. He can talk on any subject like a cultured Englishman. Indeed, he always feels at home with the English. He expects some Englishmen as co-passengers. In that case it will be an enjoyable journey for him. But he shows no sign of urge to talk to the English like most of the Indians. He pretends to read The Times. He has already his Balliol tie. He orders whisky. And lastly, he opens his gold cigarette case full of English cigarettes. He knows well that all these things will automatically arrest the attention of the Englishmen. Now he recalls his five-year glorious life of England. He loves everything of the country. Even the prostitutes of England are more charming to him than his wife Lachmi.

  However, Sir Mohan enters his reserved first class coupe. It is empty and so he is sad. He begins to read The Times. Just then two English soldiers appear. They are looking for a suitable compartment. Sir Mohan is ready to welcome them. The two soldiers ultimately choose Sir Mohan’s compartment. But they order him to get out from the compartment. Though it is reserved, the soldiers do not care for it. Sir Mohan protests mildly. His royal English, sahib like appearance and The Times come of no use. The soldiers throw all the belongings of Sir Mohan out of the train. Finally they push him out of the train. The train quickly passes the station leaving him on the platform. His wife, totally unaware of his condition, chews the betel leaves, spits and sends a jet of red dribble flying across like a dart.

The Features

  The word 'karma' is a Sanskrit one and literally means destiny. It also has a Hindu theological idea, but it has been used as the title of the story only to speak about the identity crisis of a person who blindly imitates the western culture and fashion under the impact of British colonialism in India.

  Irony forms one of the basic characteristics in Khushwant Singh’s style of writing. The consequence of Sir Mohan’s babu-culture is ironical. The irony lies in the fact that he is neither a British nor an Indian. He has no real identity. He himself has lost it. Khushwant Singh has portrayed a deep ironical view of the world around him through this story.

  Mohan Lal and Lachmi are totally opposite characters though they are couple to each other. Mohan Lal is a blind follower of the English culture, whereas his wife Lachmi is a typical Indian woman. Finally, Mohan Lal loses his identity, but Lachmi has no such crisis.

  Through this story, Khushwant Singh warns us against our false belief in foreign excellence. It teaches us not to cut our roots off with our own soil, men and civilization. Otherwise, we are sure to face humiliation and tragic doom.

  The story shows Khushwant Sing’s art of presenting the psychological aspects of human beings nicely. His power to study of man is as remarkable here as the glamour of his linguistic style to present them vividly.

Character Analysis
Sir Mohan Lal

According to Khuswant Singh's short story, Karma, Mohan Lal is a vizier and a barrister. He seems to aspire to every characteristic of the British upper-class, whether in dress or in conversation (he enjoys speaking in either British-accented English or anglicized Hindustani). He also fancies himself handsome and distinguished.

Sir Mohan Lal is such a self-important man that he travels first class on the train, while his wife is relegated to economy or general class. Fancying himself above his countrymen in every respect, Sir Mohan Lal enjoys displaying what he thinks are habits highlighting his unfailing good taste. From his propensity towards drinking Scotch while in the company of Englishmen to his inclination of working crossword puzzles in The Times in full view of others, Sir Mohan Lal is the epitome of the typical narcissist.

In the story, Khuswant Singh highlights the irony of Sir Mohan Lal's airs: while trying to ingratiate himself with two British soldiers, the soldiers end up throwing him out of first class and the train altogether. Being common British soldiers, they fail to recognize nor to be impressed by Sir Mohan Lal's 'King's English.' They merely see him as an usurper who does not belong in first class despite Sir Mohan's protestations to the contrary.

Lady Mohan Lal/Lachmi

Lady Mohan Lal or Lachmi is one of the two main characters of Khushwant Singh’s short story ‘Karma’. Singh with the portrait of Lady Lal’s character distinguished the issues of cultural identity. Lady Mohan Lal (Lachmi) is portrayed as a native woman right from the moment she is introduced in the story. She has been described as simple and ordinary Indian woman. She is short and fat and in her middle forties. She is simple and unsophisticated. She is not so careful about her fashion. She wears a dirty white sari with a red border, and a diamond nose-ring along with several gold bangles on her arms. She is a very talkative woman. She is illiterate and has no knowledge of English culture and the way of life of English people. She is very naive and simple woman. She is the representative of native Indian women dominated by their husbands. In the conclusion we may say that the physical appearance of Lady Mohan Lal has been criticized only to recognize her native Indian identity. She has been presented as exactly the opposite of Sir Mohan Lal to brought up the issues of cultural identity. She represents true Indian Culture.

Critical Analysis 

The story “Karma” by Khushwant Singh follows a non-traditional plot structure. The action itself is brief, and the story presents the characters, their life, and their behaviour at length, sometimes using narrative techniques like foreshadowing. The characters include Sir Mohan Lal and Lachmi, his wife, as main characters, and the two English soldiers, the bearer, and the coolie who speaks to Lachmi as secondary characters. The events take place in a train station in India. The social setting explores topics such as the class system in British India, social status, and racial and gender discrimination.

The events are described by a third-person narrator, who also has access to the characters’ feelings and thoughts. The narrator is generally not explicit about what happens in the story. While he describes the characters and the events in detail, he does not comment further on the implications of the characters’ behaviour or the meaning of the events. The language used by the narrator includes antithesis that helps highlight Mohan Lal’s contempt for India and his love for British culture. Irony is also used by the author to portray the characters and suggest that Sir Mohan receives an ironical lesson about his own arrogance and need for humility.  

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KARMA Complete Text with Translation

                                                      KARMA  

                                              KHUSHWANT SINGH 

The Text :

Sir Mohan Lal looked at himself in the mirror of a first class waiting room at the railway station. The mirror was obviously made in India. The red oxide at its back had come off at several places and long lines of translucent glass cut across its surface. Sir Mohan smiled at the mirror with an air of pity and patronage.

'You are so very much like everything else in this country, inefficient, dirty, indifferent,' he murmured.

The mirror smiled back at Sir Mohan.

'You are a bit of all right, old chap,' it said. 'Distinguished, efficient - even handsome. That neatly-trimmed moustache - the suit from Saville Row with the carnation in the buttonhole - the aroma of eau de cologne, talcum powder and scented soap all about you ! Yes, old fellow, you are a bit of all right.'

Sir Mohan threw out his chest, smoothed his Balliol tie for the umpteenth time and waved a goodbye to the mirror.

He glanced at his watch. There was still time for a quick one.

'Koi Hai !'

A bearer in white livery appeared through a wire gauze door.

'Ek Chota,' ordered Sir Mohan, and sank into a large cane chair to drink and ruminate.
Outside the waiting room, Sir Mohan Lal's luggage lay piled along the wall. On a small grey steel trunk, Lachmi, Lady Mohan Lal, sat chewing a betel leaf and fanning herself with a newspaper. She was short and fat and in her middle forties.

She wore a dirty white sari with a red border. On one side of her nose glistened a diamond nose-ring, and she had several gold bangles on her arms. She had been talking to the bearer until Sir Mohan had summoned him inside. As soon as he had gone, she hailed a passing railway coolie.

'Where does the zenana stop ?'
'Right at the end of the platform.'
The coolie flattened his turban to make a cushion, hoisted the steel trunk on his head, and moved down the platform. Lady Lal picked up her brass tiffin carrier and ambled along behind him. On the way she stopped by a hawker's stall to replenish her silver betel leaf case, and then joined the coolie. She sat down on her steel trunk (which the coolie had put down) and started talking to him.

"Are the trains very crowded on these lines ?"
'These days all trains are crowded, but you'll find room in the zenana.'
'Then I might as well get over the bother of eating.'
Lady Lal opened the brass carrier and took out a bundle of cramped chapatties and some mango pickle. While she ate, the coolie sat opposite her on his haunches, drawing lines in the gravel with his finger.

'Are you travelling alone, sister ?'
'No, I am with my master, brother. He is in the waiting room. He travels first class. He is a vizier and a barrister, and meets so many officers and Englishmen in the trains - and I am only a native woman. I can't understand English and don't know their ways, so I keep to my zenana inter-class.'

Lachmi chatted away merrily. She was fond of a little gossip and had no one to talk to at home. Her husband never had any time to spare for her. She lived in the upper storey of the house and he on the ground floor. He did not like her poor illiterate relatives hanging around his bungalow, so they never came. He came up to her once in a while at night and stayed for a few minutes. He just ordered her about in anglicised Hindustani, and she obeyed passively. These nocturnal visits had, however, borne no fruit.

The signal came down and the clanging of the bell announced the approaching train. Lady Lal hurriedly finished off her meal. She got up, still licking the stone of the pickled mango. She emitted a long, loud belch as she went to the public tap to rinse her mouth and wash her hands. After washing she dried her mouth and hands with the loose end of her sari, and walked back to her steel trunk, belching and thanking the Gods for the favour of a filling meal.

The train steamed in. Lachmi found herself facing an almost empty inter-class zenana compartment next to the guard's van, at the tail end of the train. The rest of the train was packed. She heaved her squat, bulky frame through the door and found a seat by the window. She produced a two-anna bit from a knot in her sari and dismissed the coolie. She then opened her betel case and made herself two betel leaves charged with a red and white paste, minced betelnuts and cardamoms. These she thrust into her mouth till her cheeks bulged on both sides. Then she rested her chin on her hands and sat gazing idly at the jostling crowd on the platform.

The arrival of the train did not disturb Sir Mohan Lal's sang-froid. He continued to sip his scotch and ordered the bearer to tell him when he had moved the luggage to a first class compartment. Excitement, bustle and hurry were exhibitions of bad breeding, and Sir Mohan was eminently well-bred. He wanted everything 'tickety-boo' and orderly. In his five years abroad, Sir Mohan had acquired the manners and attitudes of the upper classes. He rarely spoke Hindustani. When he did, it was like an Englishman's - only the very necessary words and properly anglicised. But he fancied his English, finished and refined at no less a place than the University of Oxford. He was fond of conversation, and like a cultured Englishman, he could talk on almost any subject - books, politics, people. How frequently had he heard English people say that he spoke like an Englishman !

Sir Mohan wondered if he would be travelling alone. It was a Cantonment and some English officers might be on the train. His heart warmed at the prospect of an impressive conversation. He never showed any sign of eagerness to talk to the English as most Indians did. Nor was he loud, aggressive and opinionated like them. He went about his business with an expressionless matter-of-factness. He would retire to his corner by the window and get out a copy of The Times. He would fold it in a way in which the name of the paper was visible to others while he did the crossword puzzle. The Times always attracted attention. Someone would like to borrow it when he put it aside with a gesture signifying 'I've finished with it.' Perhaps someone would recognize his Balliol tie which he always wore while travelling. That would open a vista leading to a fairy-land of Oxford colleges, masters, dons, tutors, boat-races and rugger matches. If both The Times and the tie failed, Sir Mohan would 'Koi Hai' his bearer to get the Scotch out. Whiskey never failed with Englishmen. Then followed Sir Mohan's handsome gold cigarette case filled with English cigarettes. English cigarettes in India ? How on earth did he get them ? Sure he didn't mind ? And Sir Mohan's understanding smile - of course he didn't. But could he use the Englishman as a medium to commune with his dear old England ? Those five years of grey bags and gowns, of sports blazers and mixed doubles, of dinners at the inns of Court and nights with Piccadilly prostitutes. Five years of a crowded glorious life. Worth far more than the forty-five in India with his dirty, vulgar countrymen, with sordid details of the road to success, of nocturnal visits to the upper storey and all-too-brief sexual acts with obese old Lachmi, smelling of sweat and raw onions.

Sir Mohan's thoughts were disturbed by the bearer announcing the installation of the Sahib's luggage in a first class coupe next to the engine. Sir Mohan walked to his coupe with a studied gait. He was dismayed. The compartment was empty. With a sigh he sat down in a corner and opened the copy of 'The Times', he had read several times before.

Sir Mohan looked out of the window down the crowded platform. His face lit up as he saw two English soldiers trudging along, looking in all the compartments for room. They had their haversacks slung behind their backs and walked unsteadily. Sir Mohan decided to welcome them, even though they were entitled to travel only second class. He would speak to the guard.

One of the soldiers came up to the last compartment and stuck his face through the window. He surveyed the compartment and noticed the unoccupied berth.

'Ere, Bill, he shouted, 'one ere.'

His companion came up, also looked in, and looked at Sir Mohan.
'Get the nigger out,' he muttered to his companion.
They opened the door , and turned to the half-smiling, half-protesting Sir Mohan.
'Reserved !' yelled Bill.

'Janta - Reserved. Army - Fauj,' exclaimed Jim, pointing to his khaki shirt.
'Ek Dum jao - get out !"

'I say, I say, surely,' protested Sir Mohan in his Oxford accent. The soldiers paused. It almost sounded like English, but they knew better than to trust their inebriated ears. The engine whistled and the guard waved his green flag.

They picked up Sir Mohan's suitcase and flung it on to the platform. Then followed his thermos flask, briefcase, bedding and The Times. Sir Mohan was livid with rage.

'Preposterous, preposterous,' he shouted, hoarse with anger.
I'll have you arrested - guard, guard !'

Bill and Jim paused again. It did sound like English, but it was too much of the King's for them.

'Keep yer ruddy mouth shut !' And Jim struck Sir Mohan flat on the face.
The engine gave another short whistle and the train began to move. The soldiers caught Sir Mohan by the arms and flung him out of the train. He reeled backwards, tripped on his bedding, and landed on the suitcase.

'Toodle-oo !'

Sir Mohan's feet were glued to the earth and he lost his speech. He stared at the lighted windows of the train going past him in quickening tempo. The tail-end of the train appeared with a red light and the guard standing in the open doorway with the flags in his hands. In the inter-class zenana compartment was Lachmi, fair and fat, on whose nose the diamond nose-ring glistened against the station lights. Her mouth was bloated with betel saliva which she had been storing up to spit as soon as the train had cleared the station. As the train sped past the lighted part of the platform, Lady Lal spat and sent a jet of red dribble flying across like a dart.

Hindi Translation :

                               

   सर मोहन लाल ने रेलवे स्टेशन पर एक प्रथम श्रेणी प्रतीक्षालय के शीशे में खुद को देखा। दर्पण स्पष्ट रूप से भारत में बनाया गया था। इसके पीछे का लाल ऑक्साइड कई स्थानों पर निकला था और इसकी सतह पर पारभासी कांच की लंबी लाइनें कटी हुई थीं। सर मोहन दया और संरक्षण की हवा के साथ आईने में मुस्कुराए।

'आप इस देश में बाकी सब चीजों की तरह हैं, अक्षम, गंदे, उदासीन,' वह बड़बड़ाया।

सर मोहन को देखकर शीशा मुस्कुराया।

'आप थोड़े ठीक हैं, पुराने आदमी,' इसने कहा। 'प्रतिष्ठित, कुशल - सुंदर भी। वह अच्छी तरह से कटी हुई मूंछें - बटनहोल में कार्नेशन के साथ सैविल रो का सूट - ओउ डे कोलोन, टैल्कम पाउडर और सुगंधित साबुन की सुगंध आप सभी के लिए! हाँ, बुढ़िया, तुम बिलकुल ठीक हो।'

सर मोहन ने अपना सीना बाहर फेंका, अपनी बैलिओल टाई को पंद्रहवीं बार चिकना किया और शीशे को अलविदा कह दिया।

उसने अपनी घड़ी पर एक नजर डाली। अभी भी जल्दी करने का समय था।

'कोई है!'

सफेद पोशाक में एक वाहक तार की जाली के दरवाजे से दिखाई दिया।

'एक छोटा', ​​सर मोहन को आदेश दिया, और पीने और रमने के लिए एक बड़ी बेंत की कुर्सी पर बैठ गया।

वेटिंग रूम के बाहर सर मोहन लाल का सामान दीवार के पास पड़ा था। एक छोटे से भूरे रंग के स्टील के तने पर, लच्छी, लेडी मोहन लाल, एक पान का पत्ता चबा रही थी और खुद को एक अखबार से पंखा कर रही थी। वह छोटी और मोटी थी और अपने मध्य चालीसवें वर्ष में थी।

उन्होंने लाल बॉर्डर वाली गंदी सफेद साड़ी पहनी थी। उसकी नाक के एक तरफ हीरे की नथ-अंगूठी चमक रही थी, और उसकी बाँहों में सोने की कई चूड़ियाँ थीं। वह वाहक से बात कर रही थी जब तक कि सर मोहन ने उसे अंदर नहीं बुलाया था। जैसे ही वह गया, उसने एक गुजरती रेलवे कुली की जय-जयकार की।

'जनाना कहाँ रुकती है?'

'मंच के ठीक अंत में।'

कुली ने गद्दी बनाने के लिए अपनी पगड़ी को चपटा किया, अपने सिर पर स्टील की सूंड फहराई और मंच से नीचे चला गया। लेडी लाल ने अपना पीतल का टिफिन कैरियर उठाया और उसके पीछे-पीछे चल दी। रास्ते में वह अपने चांदी के पान के डिब्बे को फिर से भरने के लिए एक फेरीवाले की दुकान के पास रुकी और फिर कुली के साथ जुड़ गई। वह अपनी स्टील की सूंड (जिसे कुली ने नीचे रखा था) पर बैठ गई और उससे बात करने लगी।

"क्या इन लाइनों पर ट्रेनों में बहुत भीड़ होती है?"

'आजकल सभी ट्रेनों में भीड़ होती है, लेकिन जनाना में आपको जगह मिल जाएगी।'

'तब मैं खाने की परेशानी से भी निजात पा सकता हूँ।'

लेडी लाल ने पीतल की ढलाई खोली और तंग चपाती का एक बंडल और कुछ आम का अचार निकाला। जब वह खाना खा रही थी, कुली उसके सामने उसके कूबड़ पर बैठ गया, अपनी उंगली से बजरी में रेखाएँ खींच रहा था।

'क्या तुम अकेली यात्रा कर रही हो, दीदी?'

'नहीं, मैं अपने गुरु के साथ हूं, भाई। वह प्रतीक्षालय में है। वह प्रथम श्रेणी में यात्रा करता है। वह एक वज़ीर और बैरिस्टर है, और ट्रेनों में इतने सारे अधिकारियों और अंग्रेजों से मिलता है - और मैं केवल एक देशी महिला हूं। मैं अंग्रेजी नहीं समझ सकता और उनके तरीके नहीं जानता, इसलिए मैं अपनी जनाना इंटर-क्लास में रहता हूं।'

लच्छमी ने मस्ती से बातें कीं। वह छोटी-छोटी गपशप की शौकीन थी और उसके पास घर पर बात करने वाला कोई नहीं था। उसके पति के पास उसके लिए समय ही नहीं बचा था। वह घर की ऊपरी मंजिल में रहती थी और वह भूतल पर। वह अपने गरीब अनपढ़ रिश्तेदारों को उसके बंगले के चारों ओर लटका पसंद नहीं करता था, इसलिए वे कभी नहीं आए। वह रात में एक बार उसके पास आया और कुछ मिनट रुका। उसने उसे अंग्रेजी में हिन्दुस्तानी के बारे में आदेश दिया, और उसने निष्क्रिय रूप से पालन किया। हालांकि, इन रात्रि यात्राओं का कोई फल नहीं निकला।

सिग्नल नीचे आ गया और घंटी बजने से आने वाली ट्रेन की घोषणा हो गई। लेडी लाल ने जल्दी से अपना भोजन समाप्त किया। वह उठी, अभी भी अचार के आम के पत्थर को चाट रही थी। जब वह सार्वजनिक नल में अपना मुंह कुल्ला करने और हाथ धोने के लिए गई तो उसने एक लंबी, तेज डकार का उत्सर्जन किया। धोने के बाद उसने अपनी साड़ी के ढीले सिरे से अपना मुंह और हाथ सुखाया, और अपने स्टील के तने पर वापस चली गई, पेट भरकर और भरपेट भोजन के लिए देवताओं का धन्यवाद करते हुए।

ट्रेन अंदर चली गई। लछमी ने खुद को ट्रेन के टेल एंड पर गार्ड की वैन के बगल में लगभग खाली इंटर-क्लास जनाना डिब्बे का सामना करते हुए पाया। बाकी ट्रेन खचाखच भरी थी। उसने दरवाजे के माध्यम से अपने स्क्वाट, भारी फ्रेम को भारी किया और खिड़की से एक सीट पाई। उसने अपनी साड़ी में एक गाँठ से दो आने का बिट बनाया और कुली को बर्खास्त कर दिया। फिर उसने अपनी सुपारी खोली और लाल और सफेद पेस्ट, कीमा बनाया हुआ सुपारी और इलायची के साथ दो पान के पत्ते बनाए। ये उसने अपने मुँह में तब तक डाले जब तक कि उसके गाल दोनों तरफ से न निकल जाएँ। फिर उसने अपनी ठुड्डी को अपने हाथों पर टिका दिया और मंच पर भीड़ को देखकर आलस्य से बैठ गई।

रेलगाड़ी के आने से सर मोहन लाल के संग-संग में खलल नहीं पड़ा। उसने अपना स्कॉच पीना जारी रखा और वाहक को आदेश दिया कि वह उसे बताए कि उसने सामान को प्रथम श्रेणी के डिब्बे में कब ले जाया था। उत्साह, हलचल और हड़बड़ी खराब प्रजनन की प्रदर्शनी थी, और सर मोहन विशेष रूप से अच्छी तरह से पैदा हुए थे। वह सब कुछ 'टिकट-बू' और अर्दली चाहता था। विदेश में अपने पाँच वर्षों में, सर मोहन ने उच्च वर्गों के व्यवहार और व्यवहार को प्राप्त कर लिया था। वह शायद ही कभी हिंदुस्तानी बोलते थे। जब उन्होंने किया, तो यह एक अंग्रेज की तरह था - केवल बहुत ही आवश्यक शब्द और सक्रिय रूप से अंग्रेजीकृत। लेकिन उन्हें अपनी अंग्रेजी पसंद थी, उन्होंने ऑक्सफोर्ड विश्वविद्यालय से कम जगह पर समाप्त और परिष्कृत किया। उन्हें बातचीत का शौक था, और एक सुसंस्कृत अंग्रेज की तरह, वे लगभग किसी भी विषय पर बात कर सकते थे - किताबें, राजनीति, लोग। उसने कितनी बार अंग्रेजों को यह कहते सुना था कि वह एक अंग्रेज की तरह बोलता है!

सर मोहन ने सोचा कि क्या वह अकेले यात्रा कर रहे होंगे। यह एक छावनी थी और कुछ अंग्रेज अधिकारी ट्रेन में हो सकते थे। एक प्रभावशाली बातचीत की संभावना से उनका दिल गर्म हो गया। उन्होंने कभी भी अंग्रेजों से बात करने की उत्सुकता का कोई संकेत नहीं दिखाया जैसा कि अधिकांश भारतीयों ने किया था। न ही वह उनके जैसा तेजतर्रार, आक्रामक और विचारों वाला था। वह अपने व्यवसाय के बारे में एक अभिव्यक्तिहीन तथ्य के साथ चला गया। वह खिड़की से अपने कोने में रिटायर हो जाता और द टाइम्स की एक प्रति निकालता। वह इसे इस तरह से मोड़ता था जिससे पेपर का नाम दूसरों को दिखाई देता था जबकि वह क्रॉसवर्ड पहेली करता था। टाइम्स ने हमेशा ध्यान आकर्षित किया। कोई इसे उधार लेना चाहेगा, जब वह 'मैंने इसे पूरा कर लिया' का संकेत देते हुए इसे एक तरफ रख दिया। शायद कोई उनकी बैलिओल टाई को पहचान लेगा जो वह यात्रा के दौरान हमेशा पहनती थी। यह ऑक्सफोर्ड कॉलेजों, मास्टर्स, डॉन्स, ट्यूटर्स, बोट-रेस और रगर मैचों की एक परी-भूमि की ओर जाने वाला एक विस्टा खोलेगा। यदि द टाइम्स और टाई दोनों विफल हो जाते, तो सर मोहन स्कॉच को बाहर निकालने के लिए अपने वाहक को 'कोई है' कहते। अंग्रेजों के साथ व्हिस्की कभी विफल नहीं हुई। इसके बाद सर मोहन की अंग्रेजी सिगरेट से भरी सुंदर सोने की सिगरेट का केस आया। भारत में अंग्रेजी सिगरेट? उसने उन्हें पृथ्वी पर कैसे प्राप्त किया? निश्चित रूप से उसे कोई आपत्ति नहीं थी? और सर मोहन की समझ मुस्कान - बेशक उन्होंने नहीं की। लेकिन क्या वह अपने प्यारे पुराने इंग्लैंड के साथ संवाद करने के लिए अंग्रेज को एक माध्यम के रूप में इस्तेमाल कर सकता था? वे पांच साल के ग्रे बैग और गाउन, स्पोर्ट्स ब्लेज़र और मिश्रित युगल के, कोर्ट की सराय में रात्रिभोज और पिकाडिली वेश्याओं के साथ रातें। भीड़ भरे शानदार जीवन के पांच साल। भारत में अपने गंदे, अशिष्ट देशवासियों के साथ पैंतालीस से अधिक मूल्य के साथ, सफलता की राह के घिनौने विवरण के साथ, ऊपरी मंजिल पर रात के दौरे और मोटे बूढ़ी लच्छी के साथ सभी संक्षिप्त यौन कार्य, पसीने की गंध और कच्चा प्याज।

इंजन के बगल में प्रथम श्रेणी के कूप में साहिब के सामान की स्थापना की घोषणा से सर मोहन के विचार विचलित हो गए। सर मोहन एक सीखी हुई चाल के साथ अपने कूप के पास गए। वह मायूस हो गया। कम्पार्टमेंट खाली था। एक आह भरते हुए वह एक कोने में बैठ गया और 'द टाइम्स' की कॉपी खोली, जिसे वह पहले भी कई बार पढ़ चुका था।

सर मोहन ने भीड़ भरे मंच से खिड़की से बाहर देखा। जब उसने दो अंग्रेज सैनिकों को साथ-साथ चलते हुए देखा, तो उसका चेहरा खिल उठा, कमरे के सभी डिब्बों में देख रहा था। उन्होंने अपनी पीठ के पीछे अपने हथौड़े रखे थे और अस्थिर चल रहे थे। सर मोहन ने उनका स्वागत करने का फैसला किया, भले ही वे केवल द्वितीय श्रेणी में यात्रा करने के हकदार थे। वह गार्ड से बात करेगा।

सैनिकों में से एक आखिरी डिब्बे में आया और खिड़की से अपना चेहरा चिपका लिया। उन्होंने डिब्बे का सर्वेक्षण किया और खाली बर्थ को देखा।

'एरे, बिल, वह चिल्लाया, 'एक ईरे।'

उसका साथी आया, उसने भी अंदर देखा और सर मोहन की ओर देखा।

'निगर को बाहर निकालो,' उसने अपने साथी से कहा।

उन्होंने दरवाजा खोला, और आधे मुस्कुराते हुए, आधे विरोध में सर मोहन की ओर मुड़ गए।

'आरक्षित!' बिल चिल्लाया।

'जनता - आरक्षित। सेना - फौज,' जिम ने अपनी खाकी शर्ट की ओर इशारा करते हुए कहा।

'एक दम जाओ - बाहर निकलो!"

'मैं कहता हूं, मैं कहता हूं, निश्चित रूप से,' सर मोहन ने अपने ऑक्सफोर्ड लहजे में विरोध किया। सैनिक रुक गए। यह लगभग अंग्रेजी की तरह लग रहा था, लेकिन वे अपने नशे में कानों पर भरोसा करने से बेहतर जानते थे। इंजन ने सीटी बजाई और गार्ड ने हरी झंडी दिखा दी।

उन्होंने सर मोहन का सूटकेस उठाया और उसे मंच पर फेंक दिया। फिर उसके थर्मस फ्लास्क, ब्रीफकेस, बिस्तर और द टाइम्स का अनुसरण किया। सर मोहन क्रोध से भर गया।

'बेतुका, बेतुका,' वह चिल्लाया, क्रोध से कर्कश।

मैं तुम्हें गिरफ्तार करवा दूंगा - गार्ड, गार्ड!'

बिल और जिम फिर से रुक गए। यह अंग्रेजी की तरह लग रहा था, लेकिन यह राजाओं के लिए बहुत अधिक था।

'येर सुर्ख मुंह बंद रखो!' और जिम ने सर मोहन के फ्लैट को चेहरे पर मारा।

इंजन ने एक और छोटी सीटी दी और ट्रेन चलने लगी। सिपाहियों ने सर मोहन को बाँहों से पकड़ लिया और ट्रेन से बाहर फेंक दिया। वह पीछे की ओर मुड़ा, अपने बिस्तर पर फँस गया, और सूटकेस पर उतर गया।

'टूडल-ऊ!'

सर मोहन के पैर जमीन से चिपके हुए थे और वह अपना भाषण खो बैठा। उसने तेज गति में ट्रेन की रौशनी वाली खिड़कियों को देखा जो उसके पास से गुजर रही थी। ट्रेन का टेल-एंड लाल बत्ती के साथ दिखाई दिया और गार्ड खुले दरवाजे पर हाथों में झंडे लिए खड़ा था। इंटर-क्लास जनाना डिब्बे में लच्छी, गोरा और मोटा था, जिसकी नाक पर हीरे की नाक की अंगूठी चमकती थी। स्टेशन की रोशनी के खिलाफ। पान की लार से उसका मुंह फूला हुआ था जिसे वह ट्रेन के स्टेशन से निकलते ही थूकने के लिए जमा कर रही थी। जैसे ही ट्रेन प्लेटफॉर्म के रोशनी वाले हिस्से से आगे बढ़ी, लेडी लाल ने थूक दिया और डार्ट की तरह उड़ते हुए लाल ड्रिबल का एक जेट भेजा।