With Mogul encouraging Influencers to post in their native languages, I decided to share one of my favorite Hindi short stories- "Kabuliwala" by the Nobel Prize winner Rabindranath Tagore.
The simple story of Kabuliwala is about the affection between Abdur Rahamat Khan, an Afghani immigrant dry-fruit-seller in Calcutta, India and Mini (Sonu), a girl who he imagines as his child-figure in memory of his daughter, Amina (Baby Farida), left behind in Kabul.
The story of Kabuliwala was a part of my textbook and has remained with me ever since the first time I read it. I still do not know what is it about the story that makes it so special to me. It has a bitter-sweet ending which always leaves me misty-eyed.
I am also pasting the English translation, for the benefit of those on platform who are unable to read Hindi. Hope you enjoy! :)
काबुलीवाला | रबीन्द्रनाथ टैगोर
मेरी पाँच बरस की लड़की मिनी से घड़ीभर भी बोले बिना नहीं रहा जाता। एक दिन वह सवेरे-सवेरे ही बोली, "बाबूजी, रामदयाल दरबान है न, वह 'काक' को 'कौआ' कहता है। वह कुछ जानता नहीं न, बाबूजी।" मेरे कुछ कहने से पहले ही उसने दूसरी बात छेड़ दी। "देखो, बाबूजी, भोला कहता है - आकाश में हाथी सूँड से पानी फेंकता है, इसी से वर्षा होती है। अच्छा बाबूजी, भोला झूठ बोलता है, है न?" और फिर वह खेल में लग गई।
मेरा घर सड़क के किनारे है। एक दिन मिनी मेरे कमरे में खेल रही थी। अचानक वह खेल छोड़कर खिड़की के पास दौड़ी गई और बड़े ज़ोर से चिल्लाने लगी, "काबुलीवाले, ओ काबुलीवाले!"
कँधे पर मेवों की झोली लटकाए, हाथ में अँगूर की पिटारी लिए एक लंबा सा काबुली धीमी चाल से सड़क पर जा रहा था। जैसे ही वह मकान की ओर आने लगा, मिनी जान लेकर भीतर भाग गई। उसे डर लगा कि कहीं वह उसे पकड़ न ले जाए। उसके मन में यह बात बैठ गई थी कि काबुलीवाले की झोली के अंदर तलाश करने पर उस जैसे और भी दो-चार बच्चे मिल सकते हैं।
काबुली ने मुसकराते हुए मुझे सलाम किया। मैंने उससे कुछ सौदा खरीदा। फिर वह बोला, "बाबू साहब, आप की लड़की कहाँ गई?"
मैंने मिनी के मन से डर दूर करने के लिए उसे बुलवा लिया। काबुली ने झोली से किशमिश और बादाम निकालकर मिनी को देना चाहा पर उसने कुछ न लिया। डरकर वह मेरे घुटनों से चिपट गई। काबुली से उसका पहला परिचय इस तरह हुआ। कुछ दिन बाद, किसी ज़रुरी काम से मैं बाहर जा रहा था। देखा कि मिनी काबुली से खूब बातें कर रही है और काबुली मुसकराता हुआ सुन रहा है। मिनी की झोली बादाम-किशमिश से भरी हुई थी। मैंने काबुली को अठन्नी देते हुए कहा, "इसे यह सब क्यों दे दिया? अब मत देना।" फिर मैं बाहर चला गया।
कुछ देर तक काबुली मिनी से बातें करता रहा। जाते समय वह अठन्नी मिनी की झोली में डालता गया। जब मैं घर लौटा तो देखा कि मिनी की माँ काबुली से अठन्नी लेने के कारण उस पर खूब गुस्सा हो रही है।
काबुली प्रतिदिन आता रहा। उसने किशमिश बादाम दे-देकर मिनी के छोटे से ह्रदय पर काफ़ी अधिकार जमा लिया था। दोनों में बहुत-बहुत बातें होतीं और वे खूब हँसते। रहमत काबुली को देखते ही मेरी लड़की हँसती हुई पूछती, "काबुलीवाले, ओ काबुलीवाले! तुम्हारी झोली में क्या है?"
रहमत हँसता हुआ कहता, "हाथी।" फिर वह मिनी से कहता, "तुम ससुराल कब जाओगी?"
इस पर उलटे वह रहमत से पूछती, "तुम ससुराल कब जाओगे?"
रहमत अपना मोटा घूँसा तानकर कहता, "हम ससुर को मारेगा।" इस पर मिनी खूब हँसती।
हर साल सरदियों के अंत में काबुली अपने देश चला जाता। जाने से पहले वह सब लोगों से पैसा वसूल करने में लगा रहता। उसे घर-घर घूमना पड़ता, मगर फिर भी प्रतिदिन वह मिनी से एक बार मिल जाता।
एक दिन सवेरे मैं अपने कमरे में बैठा कुछ काम कर रहा था। ठीक उसी समय सड़क पर बड़े ज़ोर का शोर सुनाई दिया। देखा तो अपने उस रहमत को दो सिपाही बाँधे लिए जा रहे हैं। रहमत के कुर्ते पर खून के दाग हैं और सिपाही के हाथ में खून से सना हुआ छुरा।
कुछ सिपाही से और कुछ रहमत के मुँह से सुना कि हमारे पड़ोस में रहने वाले एक आदमी ने रहमत से एक चादर खरीदी। उसके कुछ रुपए उस पर बाकी थे, जिन्हें देने से उसने इनकार कर दिया था। बस, इसी पर दोनों में बात बढ़ गई, और काबुली ने उसे छुरा मार दिया।
इतने में "काबुलीवाले, काबुलीवाले", कहती हुई मिनी घर से निकल आई। रहमत का चेहरा क्षणभर के लिए खिल उठा। मिनी ने आते ही पूछा, ''तुम ससुराल जाओगे?" रहमत ने हँसकर कहा, "हाँ, वहीं तो जा रहा हूँ।"
रहमत को लगा कि मिनी उसके उत्तर से प्रसन्न नहीं हुई। तब उसने घूँसा दिखाकर कहा, "ससुर को मारता पर क्या करुँ, हाथ बँधे हुए हैं।"
छुरा चलाने के अपराध में रहमत को कई साल की सज़ा हो गई।
काबुली का ख्याल धीरे-धीरे मेरे मन से बिलकुल उतर गया और मिनी भी उसे भूल गई।
कई साल बीत गए।
आज मेरी मिनी का विवाह है। लोग आ-जा रहे हैं। मैं अपने कमरे में बैठा हुआ खर्च का हिसाब लिख रहा था। इतने में रहमत सलाम करके एक ओर खड़ा हो गया।
पहले तो मैं उसे पहचान ही न सका। उसके पास न तो झोली थी और न चेहरे पर पहले जैसी खुशी। अंत में उसकी ओर ध्यान से देखकर पहचाना कि यह तो रहमत है।
मैंने पूछा, "क्यों रहमत कब आए?"
"कल ही शाम को जेल से छूटा हूँ," उसने बताया।
मैंने उससे कहा, "आज हमारे घर में एक जरुरी काम है, मैं उसमें लगा हुआ हूँ। आज तुम जाओ, फिर आना।"
वह उदास होकर जाने लगा। दरवाजे़ के पास रुककर बोला, "ज़रा बच्ची को नहीं देख सकता?"
शायद उसे यही विश्वास था कि मिनी अब भी वैसी ही बच्ची बनी हुई है। वह अब भी पहले की तरह "काबुलीवाले, ओ काबुलीवाले" चिल्लाती हुई दौड़ी चली आएगी। उन दोनों की उस पुरानी हँसी और बातचीत में किसी तरह की रुकावट न होगी। मैंने कहा, "आज घर में बहुत काम है। आज उससे मिलना न हो सकेगा।"
वह कुछ उदास हो गया और सलाम करके दरवाज़े से बाहर निकल गया।
मैं सोच ही रहा था कि उसे वापस बुलाऊँ। इतने मे वह स्वयं ही लौट आया और बोला, "'यह थोड़ा सा मेवा बच्ची के लिए लाया था। उसको दे दीजिएगा।"
मैने उसे पैसे देने चाहे पर उसने कहा, 'आपकी बहुत मेहरबानी है बाबू साहब! पैसे रहने दीजिए।' फिर ज़रा ठहरकर बोला, "आपकी जैसी मेरी भी एक बेटी हैं। मैं उसकी याद कर-करके आपकी बच्ची के लिए थोड़ा-सा मेवा ले आया करता हूँ। मैं यहाँ सौदा बेचने नहीं आता।"
उसने अपने कुरते की जेब में हाथ डालकर एक मैला-कुचैला मुड़ा हुआ कागज का टुकड़ा निकला औऱ बड़े जतन से उसकी चारों तह खोलकर दोनो हाथों से उसे फैलाकर मेरी मेज पर रख दिया। देखा कि कागज के उस टुकड़े पर एक नन्हें से हाथ के छोटे-से पंजे की छाप हैं। हाथ में थोड़ी-सी कालिख लगाकर, कागज़ पर उसी की छाप ले ली गई थी। अपनी बेटी इस याद को छाती से लगाकर, रहमत हर साल कलकत्ते के गली-कूचों में सौदा बेचने के लिए आता है।
देखकर मेरी आँखें भर आईं। सबकुछ भूलकर मैने उसी समय मिनी को बाहर बुलाया। विवाह की पूरी पोशाक और गहनें पहने मिनी शरम से सिकुड़ी मेरे पास आकर खड़ी हो गई।
उसे देखकर रहमत काबुली पहले तो सकपका गया। उससे पहले जैसी बातचीत न करते बना। बाद में वह हँसते हुए बोला, "लल्ली! सास के घर जा रही हैं क्या?"
मिनी अब सास का अर्थ समझने लगी थी। मारे शरम के उसका मुँह लाल हो उठा।
मिनी के चले जाने पर एक गहरी साँस भरकर रहमत ज़मीन पर बैठ गया। उसकी समझ में यह बात एकाएक स्पष्ट हो उठी कि उसकी बेटी भी इतने दिनों में बड़ी हो गई होगी। इन आठ वर्षों में उसका क्या हुआ होगा, कौन जाने? वह उसकी याद में खो गया।
मैने कुछ रुपए निकालकर उसके हाथ में रख दिए और कहा, "रहमत! तुम अपनी बेटी के पास देश चले जाओ।"
by Rabindranath Tagore
My five years' old daughter Mini cannot live without chattering. I really believe that in all her life she has not wasted a minute in silence. Her mother is often vexed at this, and would stop her prattle, but I would not. To see Mini quiet is unnatural, and I cannot bear it long. And so my own talk with her is always lively.
One morning, for instance, when I was in the midst of the seventeenth chapter of my new novel, my little Mini stole into the room, and putting her hand into mine, said: "Father! Ramdayal the doorkeeper calls a crow a krow! He doesn't know anything, does he?"
Before I could explain to her the differences of language in this world, she was embarked on the full tide of another subject. "What do you think, Father? Bhola says there is an elephant in the clouds, blowing water out of his trunk, and that is why it rains!"
And then, darting off anew, while I sat still making ready some reply to this last saying, "Father! what relation is Mother to you?"
"My dear little sister in the law!" I murmured involuntarily to myself, but with a grave face contrived to answer: "Go and play with Bhola, Mini! I am busy!"
The window of my room overlooks the road. The child had seated herself at my feet near my table, and was playing softly, drumming on her knees. I was hard at work on my seventeenth chapter, where Protrap Singh, the hero, had just caught Kanchanlata, the heroine, in his arms, and was about to escape with her by the third story window of the castle, when all of a sudden Mini left her play, and ran to the window, crying, "A Kabuliwallah! a Kabuliwallah!" Sure enough in the street below was a Kabuliwallah, passing slowly along. He wore the loose soiled clothing of his people, with a tall turban; there was a bag on his back, and he carried boxes of grapes in his hand.
I cannot tell what were my daughter's feelings at the sight of this man, but she began to call him loudly. "Ah!" I thought, "he will come in, and my seventeenth chapter will never be finished!" At which exact moment the Kabuliwallah turned, and looked up at the child. When she saw this, overcome by terror, she fled to her mother's protection, and disappeared. She had a blind belief that inside the bag, which the big man carried, there were perhaps two or three other children like herself. The pedlar meanwhile entered my doorway, and greeted me with a smiling face.
So precarious was the position of my hero and my heroine, that my first impulse was to stop and buy something, since the man had been called. I made some small purchases, and a conversation began about Abdurrahman, the Russians, the English, and the Frontier Policy.
As he was about to leave, he asked: "And where is the little girl, sir?"
And I, thinking that Mini must get rid of her false fear, had her brought out.
She stood by my chair, and looked at the Kabuliwallah and his bag. He offered her nuts and raisins, but she would not be tempted, and only clung the closer to me, with all her doubts increased.
This was their first meeting.
One morning, however, not many days later, as I was leaving the house, I was startled to find Mini, seated on a bench near the door, laughing and talking, with the great Kabuliwallah at her feet. In all her life, it appeared; my small daughter had never found so patient a listener, save her father. And already the corner of her little sari was stuffed with almonds and raisins, the gift of her visitor, "Why did you give her those?" I said, and taking out an eight-anna bit, I handed it to him. The man accepted the money without demur, and slipped it into his pocket.
Alas, on my return an hour later, I found the unfortunate coin had made twice its own worth of trouble! For the Kabuliwallah had given it to Mini, and her mother catching sight of the bright round object, had pounced on the child with: "Where did you get that eight-anna bit? "
"The Kabuliwallah gave it me," said Mini cheerfully.
"The Kabuliwallah gave it you!" cried her mother much shocked. "Oh, Mini! how could you take it from him?"
I, entering at the moment, saved her from impending disaster, and proceeded to make my own inquiries.
It was not the first or second time, I found, that the two had met. The Kabuliwallah had overcome the child's first terror by a judicious bribery of nuts and almonds, and the two were now great friends.
They had many quaint jokes, which afforded them much amusement. Seated in front of him, looking down on his gigantic frame in all her tiny dignity, Mini would ripple her face with laughter, and begin: "O Kabuliwallah, Kabuliwallah, what have you got in your bag?"
And he would reply, in the nasal accents of the mountaineer: "An elephant!" Not much cause for merriment, perhaps; but how they both enjoyed the witticism! And for me, this child's talk with a grown-up man had always in it something strangely fascinating.
Then the Kabuliwallah, not to be behindhand, would take his turn: "Well, little one, and when are you going to the father-in-law's house?"
Now most small Bengali maidens have heard long ago about the father-in-law's house; but we, being a little new-fangled, had kept these things from our child, and Mini at this question must have been a trifle bewildered. But she would not show it, and with ready tact replied: "Are you going there?"
Amongst men of the Kabuliwallah's class, however, it is well known that the words father-in-law's house have a double meaning. It is a euphemism for jail, the place where we are well cared for, at no expense to ourselves. In this sense would the sturdy pedlar take my daughter's question. "Ah," he would say, shaking his fist at an invisible policeman, "I will thrash my father-in-law!" Hearing this, and picturing the poor discomfited relative, Mini would go off into peals of laughter, in which her formidable friend would join.
These were autumn mornings, the very time of year when kings of old went forth to conquest; and I, never stirring from my little corner in Calcutta, would let my mind wander over the whole world. At the very name of another country, my heart would go out to it, and at the sight of a foreigner in the streets, I would fall to weaving a network of dreams, --the mountains, the glens, and the forests of his distant home, with his cottage in its setting, and the free and independent life of far-away wilds.
Perhaps the scenes of travel conjure themselves up before me, and pass and repass in my imagination all the more vividly, because I lead such a vegetable existence, that a call to travel would fall upon me like a thunderbolt.
In the presence of this Kabuliwallah, I was immediately transported to the foot of arid mountain peaks, with narrow little defiles twisting in and out amongst their towering heights. I could see the string of camels bearing the merchandise, and the company of turbaned merchants, carrying some of their queer old firearms, and some of their spears, journeying downward towards the plains. I could see--but at some such point Mini's mother would intervene, imploring me to "beware of that man."
Mini's mother is unfortunately a very timid lady. Whenever she hears a noise in the street, or sees people coming towards the house, she always jumps to the conclusion that they are either thieves, or drunkards, or snakes, or tigers, or malaria or cockroaches, or caterpillars, or an English sailor. Even after all these years of experience, she is not able to overcome her terror. So she was full of doubts about the Kabuliwallah, and used to beg me to keep a watchful eye on him.
I tried to laugh her fear gently away, but then she would turn round on me seriously, and ask me solemn questions.
Were children never kidnapped?
Was it, then, not true that there was slavery in Kabul?
Was it so very absurd that this big man should be able to carry off a tiny child?
I urged that, though not impossible, it was highly improbable. But this was not enough, and her dread persisted. As it was indefinite, however, it did not seem right to forbid the man the house, and the intimacy went on unchecked.
Once a year in the middle of January Rahmun, the Kabuliwallah, was in the habit of returning to his country, and as the time approached he would be very busy, going from house to house collecting his debts. This year, however, he could always find time to come and see Mini. It would have seemed to an outsider that there was some conspiracy between the two, for when he could not come in the morning, he would appear in the evening.
Even to me it was a little startling now and then, in the corner of a dark room, suddenly to surprise this tall, loose-garmented, much bebagged man; but when Mini would run in smiling, with her, "O! Kabuliwallah! Kabuliwallah!" and the two friends, so far apart in age, would subside into their old laughter and their old jokes, I felt reassured.
One morning, a few days before he had made up his mind to go, I was correcting my proof sheets in my study. It was chilly weather. Through the window the rays of the sun touched my feet, and the slight warmth was very welcome. It was almost eight o'clock, and the early pedestrians were returning home, with their heads covered. All at once, I heard an uproar in the street, and, looking out, saw Rahmun being led away bound between two policemen, and behind them a crowd of curious boys. There were blood-stains on the clothes of the Kabuliwallah, and one of the policemen carried a knife.
Hurrying out, I stopped them, and enquired what it all meant. Partly from one, partly from another, I gathered that a certain neighbour had owed the pedlar something for a Rampuri shawl, but had falsely denied having bought it, and that in the course of the quarrel, Rahmun had struck him. Now in the heat of his excitement, the prisoner began calling his enemy all sorts of names, when suddenly in a verandah of my house appeared my little Mini, with her usual exclamation: "O Kabuliwallah! Kabuliwallah!" Rahmun's face lighted up as he turned to her. He had no bag under his arm today, so she could not discuss the elephant with him. She at once therefore proceeded to the next question: "Are you going to the father-in-law's house?" Rahmun laughed and said: "Just where I am going, little one!" Then seeing that the reply did not amuse the child, he held up his fettered hands. " Ali," he said, " I would have thrashed that old father-in-law, but my hands are bound!"
On a charge of murderous assault, Rahmun was sentenced to some years' imprisonment.
Time passed away, and he was not remembered. The accustomed work in the accustomed place was ours, and the thought of the once-free mountaineer spending his years in prison seldom or never occurred to us. Even my light-hearted Mini, I am ashamed to say, forgot her old friend. New companions filled her life. As she grew older, she spent more of her time with girls. So much time indeed did she spend with them that she came no more, as she used to do, to her father's room. I was scarcely on speaking terms with her.
Years had passed away. It was once more autumn and we had made arrangements for our Mini's marriage. It was to take place during the Puja Holidays. With Durga returning to Kailas, the light of our home also was to depart to her husband's house, and leave her father's in the shadow.
The morning was bright. After the rains, there was a sense of ablution in the air, and the sun-rays looked like pure gold. So bright were they that they gave a beautiful radiance even to the sordid brick walls of our Calcutta lanes. Since early dawn to-day the wedding-pipes had been sounding, and at each beat my own heart throbbed. The wail of the tune, Bhairavi, seemed to intensify my pain at the approaching separation. My Mini was to be married to-night.
From early morning noise and bustle had pervaded the house. In the courtyard the canopy had to be slung on its bamboo poles; the chandeliers with their tinkling sound must be hung in each room and verandah. There was no end of hurry and excitement. I was sitting in my study, looking through the accounts, when some one entered, saluting respectfully, and stood before me. It was Rahmun the Kabuliwallah. At first I did not recognise him. He had no bag, nor the long hair, nor the same vigour that he used to have. But he smiled, and I knew him again.
"When did you come, Rahmun?" I asked him.
"Last evening," he said, "I was released from jail."
The words struck harsh upon my ears. I had never before talked with one who had wounded his fellow, and my heart shrank within itself, when I realised this, for I felt that the day would have been better-omened had he not turned up.
"There are ceremonies going on," I said, "and I am busy. Could you perhaps come another day?"
At once he turned to go; but as he reached the door he hesitated, and said: "May I not see the little one, sir, for a moment?" It was his belief that Mini was still the same. He had pictured her running to him as she used, calling "O Kabuliwallah! Kabuliwallah!" He had imagined too that they would laugh and talk together, just as of old. In fact, in memory of former days he had brought, carefully wrapped up in paper, a few almonds and raisins and grapes, obtained somehow from a countryman, for his own little fund was dispersed.
I said again: "There is a ceremony in the house, and you will not be able to see any one to-day."
The man's face fell. He looked wistfully at me for a moment, said "Good morning," and went out. I felt a little sorry, and would have called him back, but I found he was returning of his own accord. He came close up to me holding out his offerings and said: "I brought these few things, sir, for the little one. Will you give them to her?"
I took them and was going to pay him, but he caught my hand and said: "You are very kind, sir! Keep me in your recollection. Do not offer me money!--You have a little girl, I too have one like her in my own home. I think of her, and bring fruits to your child, not to make a profit for myself."
Saying this, he put his hand inside his big loose robe, and brought out a small and dirty piece of paper. With great care he unfolded this, and smoothed it out with both hands on my table. It bore the impression of a little band. Not a photograph. Not a drawing. The impression of an ink-smeared hand laid flat on the paper. This touch of his own little daughter had been always on his heart, as he had come year after year to Calcutta, to sell his wares in the streets.
Tears came to my eyes. I forgot that he was a poor Kabuli fruit-seller, while I was--but no, what was I more than he? He also was a father. That impression of the hand of his little Parbati in her distant mountain home reminded me of my own little Mini.
I sent for Mini immediately from the inner apartment. Many difficulties were raised, but I would not listen. Clad in the red silk of her wedding-day, with the sandal paste on her forehead, and adorned as a young bride, Mini came, and stood bashfully before me.
The Kabuliwallah looked a little staggered at the apparition. He could not revive their old friendship. At last he smiled and said: "Little one, are you going to your father-in-law's house?"
But Mini now understood the meaning of the word "father-in-law," and she could not reply to him as of old. She flushed up at the question, and stood before him with her bride-like face turned down.
I remembered the day when the Kabuliwallah and my Mini had first met, and I felt sad. When she had gone, Rahmun heaved a deep sigh, and sat down on the floor. The idea had suddenly come to him that his daughter too must have grown in this long time, and that he would have to make friends with her anew. Assuredly he would not find her, as he used to know her. And besides, what might not have happened to her in these eight years?
The marriage-pipes sounded, and the mild autumn sun streamed round us. But Rahmun sat in the little Calcutta lane, and saw before him the barren mountains of Afghanistan.
I took out a bank-note, and gave it to him, saying: "Go back to your own daughter, Rahmun, in your own country, and may the happiness of your meeting bring good fortune to my child!"
Having made this present, I had to curtail some of the festivities. I could not have the electric lights I had intended, nor the military band, and the ladies of the house were despondent at it. But to me the wedding feast was all the brighter for the thought that in a distant land a long-lost father met again with his only child.