A DEBT TO PREMCHAND

Munshi Premchand remains one of the most revered figures in Hindi literature, celebrated for his realistic portrayal of social issues and the everyday struggles of ordinary people. Throughout his lifetime, he wrote numerous short stories and novels that illuminated the hardships and hopes of rural India.

Although Premchand’s fame spread mainly across the Hindi-speaking regions of North India, his influence gradually reached other parts of the country. Readers elsewhere encountered his stories in local newspapers and periodicals, and many of them found their way into school and college curricula — as they still do today.

Life of Munshi Premchand

Munshi Premchand, whose real name was Dhanpat Rai, was born in 1880 in a village near Benares (now Varanasi) in Uttar Pradesh. His grandfather, Guru Sahai Rai, was a patwari (village record keeper), while his father, Ajaib Rai, worked as a clerk in the local post office. His mother, Anandi Devi, played an important role in shaping his early sensibilities.

Dhanpat aspired to pursue college education but was denied admission due to poor marks in arithmetic. In 1900, after completing school, he took up a job as a teacher in a government school — earning him the honorific “Munshi,” meaning teacher.

His life was marked by struggle, yet his literary talent soon found expression in stories that gained wide readership. In 1921, he resigned from government service in response to Mahatma Gandhi’s call for non-cooperation with the British. Moving to Bombay, he briefly worked as a scriptwriter to make ends meet. A publishing venture he started ran into debts, and he later returned to Benares, where ill health shadowed his final years. He passed away in 1936.

How I Came to Know About Him

As children, we often listened to our father narrate a story — likely written by Premchand — about a little boy visiting a mela (village fair) with his parents. The boy keeps pestering them for sweets, toys, and balloons but eventually gets lost and is rescued by a kind man. When offered the very things he had desired, the child refuses them all, crying only for his mother.

This simple tale carries a profound message: the things we crave in life are transient and meaningless compared to love and care, which we ultimately seek above all else.

When I was in school, perhaps in Class 7 or 8, we studied a Hindi story by Premchand titled Eid aur Holi. It told of two neighbouring families — one Hindu, the other Muslim — whose children played together daily. One day, a quarrel between the children escalated into a fight between the adults. After some time, the exhausted elders were astonished to see their children once again playing together as if nothing had happened. The story beautifully highlights how innocence and goodwill can transcend religious and social divides. It deeply influenced my understanding of communal harmony.

Around my high school years, when Hindi was declared the official language of India, there was nationwide enthusiasm to learn it — though not equally everywhere. One of my sisters took up postgraduate studies in Hindi, and among her books was Premchand’s Godaan. I remember trying to read it then but found it incomprehensible, as I knew little Hindi and even less about the rural life of northern India. Years later, I read the English translation.

Godaan (The Gift of a Cow, 1936)

Godaan — Premchand’s last completed novel — is regarded as one of the greatest works of modern Indian literature. The title refers to the ritual of gifting a cow in charity (go-daan), an act believed to absolve one’s sins and earn divine blessings. “A household can never appear prosperous without a cow,” wrote Premchand. “How auspicious it is to wake up in the morning to the mooing of your own cow!”

The novel centres on Hori Mahato, a poor peasant caught in a web of debt and deprivation. His simple wish to own a cow becomes a symbol of dignity, piety, and human struggle. Through Hori’s life and death, Premchand painted a vivid portrait of rural India before independence — its poverty, its powerlessness, and the intricate social fabric that defined it.

Godaan left a deep and lasting impression on me. It may even have influenced my decision to work in Bihar — one of India’s poorest states — where the realities Premchand depicted still persist in rural life today.

The novel was first translated into English in 1957 by Jai Ratan and Purushottama Lal under the title The Gift of a Cow. A later translation (1968) by Gordon C. Roadarmel is now regarded as a classic. Godaan was adapted into a Hindi film in 1963 and later as part of Gulzar’s television series Tehreer... Munshi Premchand Ki (2004) on Doordarshan.

The Short Stories

Premchand’s short stories stand apart for their emotional depth and moral realism. Few writers have captured rural India in all its colours and contradictions as vividly as he did. His narratives often revolve around the powerless and the oppressed — tenant farmers, landless labourers, and exploited women — whose voices he brought to life with empathy and truth.

Stories like Garib Ki Hai (“The Poor Man’s Curse”), Jurmana (“Penalty”), and Poos Ki Raat (“A Winter Night”) reveal his deep understanding of human suffering.

In Garib Ki Hai, Munga, a destitute woman, entrusts her small savings to a local advocate for safekeeping. He cheats her out of it. Left without means to survive, she becomes mentally unstable and finally dies in front of his house — a tragedy that haunts his entire family.

In Jurmana, Alrakkhi, a sweeper woman, is constantly harassed by a sanitary inspector who habitually deducts money from her wages. One day, she brings her sick baby to work; when the child’s crying prevents her from doing her tasks, she fears losing her pay. Seeing her plight, the inspector — surprisingly — pays her in full without a word. In that brief, wordless moment, Premchand exposes the flicker of compassion that can survive even within the hardest of hearts.

In Poos Ki Raat, Premchand captures the tender bond between Halku, a poor farmer, and his faithful dog Jabra, as they endure a freezing night together guarding their field. Lacking warm clothes, Halku lies shivering on a cot, with Jabra beside him. Writes Premchand:

“When he could no longer bear it, he gently picked Jabra up... got him to fall asleep in his lap. The dog’s body gave off a kind of stink — but Halku, hugging him tight, experienced a happiness he hadn’t felt for months. He embraced him with the same affection he would have felt for a brother or a friend.”

The bond between man and beast is captured with extraordinary tenderness. When I once read this story aloud to my helper’s daughter, it changed something in me. My old fear and hesitation towards dogs disappeared, and since then, we have kept them as part of our family. Even today, when I see our dog, my heart warms with the same affection Premchand described between Halku and Jabra.

The World Today

We now live in a techno-savvy world where time is money and attention is scarce. The younger generation spends its leisure on screens and gadgets, with little inclination to read about the past. Who, after all, wants to dwell on human suffering when the world glorifies instant gratification? “Self” has become supreme. We scroll endlessly through screens, detached from real human emotions. Violence, loss, and tragedy are reduced to headlines that vanish within minutes. In our obsession with machines, we risk becoming machines ourselves.

The Relevance of Premchand

Long ago, the novelist Pearl S. Buck wrote about her “Debt to Dickens.” Growing up in China, where her father was a missionary, she was surrounded by Chinese children and cut off from English life. But Dickens’ books connected her to her homeland — to its streets, people, and emotions — keeping her sense of belonging alive through imagination. In much the same way, Premchand connects us to the moral and emotional heart of India.

Premchand’s genius lay not merely in storytelling but in his ability to awaken feeling — to stir compassion in the reader. His pages compel us to look beyond our comfort zones, to understand lives very different from our own, and to realize that empathy is the essence of being human. He believed that art should not only entertain but also enlighten — that literature should make us more humane, more sensitive to suffering.

As we grow more self-centred, we risk losing touch with the values that hold civilization together — compassion, kindness, and shared humanity. Premchand’s writings remind us that man is not meant to live in isolation. He saw generosity as the natural law of existence. As he beautifully wrote:

“Trees bear fruits only to be eaten by others;
Fields grow grain, but they are consumed by the world;
The cow gives milk but does not drink it herself;
Clouds send rain only to quench the parched earth.
In such giving, there is little space for selfishness.”

We owe Premchand a deep and enduring debt — not merely as readers, but as human beings. It is a debt we can never fully redeem, yet it ennobles us each time we remember him.