Splashed by a Car

Motar Ke Chhiten
Splashed!
by Munshi Premchand
Translated from Hindi by Prasenjit Gupta

Early in the morning, having finished with my washing and prayers, having applied the tilak on my forehead, put on my yellow cloth and my wooden sandals, stuck the almanac under my arm, and picked up my stout staff, my Foe's-Head-Breaker, I set forth to a client's house. The most auspicious hour for a marriage was to be decided. There was the likelihood of a large coin at the very least. And refreshments on top of that. My meals, I must add, are no ordinary meals. Mere clerks and petty officers never find the courage to invite me. A month's sustenance for them is a day's refreshments for me. In this matter I admire our merchants and bankers, who feed you so much, feed you so much, and with such an open heart, that your body is suffused with bliss. I accept invitations only after considering the client's generosity. If someone looks worried while he feeds me, my appetite vanishes. What good is your feeding someone if you have to cry while you do it? I for one cannot digest that kind of meal. The client should be such that he keeps exhorting me, Here, Shastri-ji, have one more sweet, and I keep saying, No, no, Jajman, no more now!

It had rained heavily at night, and pools of water dotted the street. I was walking along deep in my own thoughts when a car splashed past. Large drops hit my face. When I glanced down, my dhoti looked as if someone had stirred up a bucket of mud and flung it at me. My clothes were ruined, for one thing; my person defiled, for another; and my financial position hurt, for yet one more. If I could catch those people in the car, I'd fix them in a way they wouldn't soon forget. But all I could do was rage inside. I couldn't go to the client's house dressed like this; my own house was more than a mile away. And the passers-by were staring at me and clapping their hands. I had never been in such a sorry way. What should I do? If I went home, what would my good wife say?

Speedily I decided what had to be done. From the street I gathered ten or twelve stones and waited for another car. Brahma's force was within me! Less than ten minutes had passed when another car appeared. Aha, it was the same car! Perhaps it was on its way back from picking up the master at the railway station. As it drew near, I let loose with one of the stones, my full strength behind it. The sahib's hat flew off and landed on the other side of the street. The car slowed. I fired off another. This one smashed the window, and a piece of glass hit the cheek of the Sahib Bahadur. Blood began to flow. The car stopped, and the sahib stepped down and walked up to me. He drew back his fist and said in bad Hindi, "Pig, I'll give you in the police." As soon as I heard that I dropped my almanac on the ground, grabbed the sahib around the chest, and tripped him with my leg. He fell backwards with a thud into the muddy street. Quickly I straddled him and laid into his neck and face, delivering a score of blows in quick succession until the sahib seemed quite disoriented. Meanwhile his wife had emerged from the car. High heels, silk sari, powdered cheeks, painted lips, darkened eyebrows; she began to poke at me with her umbrella. I let the sahib go and reached for my staff. "Devi-ji, please don't thrust yourself into men's affairs; you might be injured, and that would cause me grief."

The sahib found his chance and, rising carefully to his feet, delivered a kick. His boot was very hard upon my knee. Enraged, I picked up my staff and laid it into the sahib's leg. He went down like a chopped tree. Memsahib ran at me brandishing her umbrella. Gently I pulled it out of her grasp and threw it aside. The driver had stayed in the car all this time. Now he too climbed out and attacked me with a cane. I administered a stroke of my staff to him as well, and he went sprawling. By now a sizeable crowd had gathered to watch the fun. The sahib, lying on the ground, spoke up. "Rascal! I'll give you the police."

I hefted my staff again and was tempted to apply it to his cranium when the sahib quickly put his palms together and said, "No, no, sir, I won't go in the police, forgive me."

I said, "Yes, don't talk of the police, otherwise I'll color your cranium right here. At most they'll put me away for six months, but I'll cure you of this habit permanently. You drive a car and splash people as you go-you're blind from sheer pride. You don't even look to left or right to see if anyone's there."

One of the onlookers made a further criticism: "Oh, my dear sir, these motor-wallas know what they're doing, they splatter mud as they go, and when someone's soaked, they watch the fun and laugh merrily. You did very well to fix at least one of them."

I shouted at the sahib, "Are you listening to what the people have to say?"

The sahib turned his red-eyed glare upon that man and said, "You speak a lie, an absolute lie."

I scolded him. "Your arrogance hasn't abated much; should I let you have a few more strokes?"

The sahib whimpered, "Oh no, sir, no, he speaks truth, speaks truth. Now you are happy?"

Another bystander said, "He can say what he likes now, but as soon as he's back in his car he'll start up his antics all over again. As soon as they sit in a car they think they're the nawab's nephew."

One gentleman advised, "Tell him to spit and lick it up."

A third said, "No, let him pinch his ear and do sit-ups."

A fourth: "And the driver too. These are worse rogues. If a rich man acts proud, that's one thing, but why should you act so high-and-mighty? Your hands touch the steering wheel, and a curtain descends over your eyes!"

I accepted this proposal. Both the driver and the owner must pinch their ears and do sit-ups while the memsahib counted. "Listen, memsahib, you'll have to keep the count. A hundred sit-ups, no less. Not one less; more's okay, as much as you want."

Two men took the sahib by the arms and lifted him to his feet, and two others the honorable driver. The driver had a wounded leg, but still he began to do the sit-ups. The sahib's arrogance had not diminished by much. He sat down and began to run loose at the mouth. By that time I had become fearsome, a Rudra. I had resolved that I would not let him go without making him do a hundred sit-ups. I told four of the men to push the car off the edge of the road.

No sooner said than begun. Instead of four there were forty who put their shoulders to the car. The roadway was built on a high embankment; the ground fell away on either side. The car would go off the road and be smashed to a heap. The car was almost at the edge when the sahib groaned and said, "Sir, please don't break the car, I'll do sit-ups."

I ordered the men away, but it had become an entertainment for them. No one paid me any heed. Only when I ran at them with my staff raised did they leave the car and disperse; and the sahib, closing his eyes, began to do the sit-ups.

After he'd done ten I asked the memsahib, "How many so far?"

The memsahib said huffily, "I not count."

"In that case the sahib will stay here all day, groaning like this, I won't let him go. If you want to get him safely home, start counting. Then I'll set him free."

The sahib understood that he wouldn't be saved without suffering the penalty, and he resumed his sit-ups. One, two, three, four, five.

Suddenly another car was seen coming. The sahib saw it too. He rubbed his nose and said, "Pandit-ji, you is my father! Take pity on me. I'll never sit in a car again." And I did feel some pity. I said, "No, I'm not stopping you from sitting in a car; all I'm saying is that even when you're sitting in a car you should remember that other people are people too."

The second car drove up quickly. I signalled. All the bystanders picked up a stone or two. This car was being driven by the owner himself. He slowed down and was trying to slip away when I stepped forward and grabbed his ear and shook him vigorously, then slapped him soundly on both cheeks. "Don't splash mud with your car, understand? Go quietly on your way."

This gentleman began to chatter, but then he saw the crowd standing with stones in their hands, and without twitching his tail or ear he drove away meekly.

A minute later another car appeared. I told fifty men to bar the way. The car stopped. Him too I bade farewell with four slaps; but this poor fellow was a true gentleman. He endured the slaps quietly and drove on.

Suddenly someone shouted, "Here come the police!"

In an instant everyone disappeared! I too clambered off the road, stepped into an alleyway, and was gone.

Continue to "Dear Editor".

Return to the introduction.

Discuss this story.


home about contact policies submissions feature archives audio visual writing reviews forums art film & television food literature music society & culture elsewhere desilit parabaas sasialit sawnet upper stall	Motar Ke Chhiten Splashed! by Munshi Premchand Translated from Hindi by Prasenjit Gupta Early in the morning, having finished with my washing and prayers, having applied the tilak on my forehead, put on my yellow cloth and my wooden sandals, stuck the almanac under my arm, and picked up my stout staff, my Foe's-Head-Breaker, I set forth to a client's house. The most auspicious hour for a marriage was to be decided. There was the likelihood of a large coin at the very least. And refreshments on top of that. My meals, I must add, are no ordinary meals. Mere clerks and petty officers never find the courage to invite me. A month's sustenance for them is a day's refreshments for me. In this matter I admire our merchants and bankers, who feed you so much, feed you so much, and with such an open heart, that your body is suffused with bliss. I accept invitations only after considering the client's generosity. If someone looks worried while he feeds me, my appetite vanishes. What good is your feeding someone if you have to cry while you do it? I for one cannot digest that kind of meal. The client should be such that he keeps exhorting me, Here, Shastri-ji, have one more sweet, and I keep saying, No, no, Jajman, no more now! It had rained heavily at night, and pools of water dotted the street. I was walking along deep in my own thoughts when a car splashed past. Large drops hit my face. When I glanced down, my dhoti looked as if someone had stirred up a bucket of mud and flung it at me. My clothes were ruined, for one thing; my person defiled, for another; and my financial position hurt, for yet one more. If I could catch those people in the car, I'd fix them in a way they wouldn't soon forget. But all I could do was rage inside. I couldn't go to the client's house dressed like this; my own house was more than a mile away. And the passers-by were staring at me and clapping their hands. I had never been in such a sorry way. What should I do? If I went home, what would my good wife say? Speedily I decided what had to be done. From the street I gathered ten or twelve stones and waited for another car. Brahma's force was within me! Less than ten minutes had passed when another car appeared. Aha, it was the same car! Perhaps it was on its way back from picking up the master at the railway station. As it drew near, I let loose with one of the stones, my full strength behind it. The sahib's hat flew off and landed on the other side of the street. The car slowed. I fired off another. This one smashed the window, and a piece of glass hit the cheek of the Sahib Bahadur. Blood began to flow. The car stopped, and the sahib stepped down and walked up to me. He drew back his fist and said in bad Hindi, "Pig, I'll give you in the police." As soon as I heard that I dropped my almanac on the ground, grabbed the sahib around the chest, and tripped him with my leg. He fell backwards with a thud into the muddy street. Quickly I straddled him and laid into his neck and face, delivering a score of blows in quick succession until the sahib seemed quite disoriented. Meanwhile his wife had emerged from the car. High heels, silk sari, powdered cheeks, painted lips, darkened eyebrows; she began to poke at me with her umbrella. I let the sahib go and reached for my staff. "Devi-ji, please don't thrust yourself into men's affairs; you might be injured, and that would cause me grief." The sahib found his chance and, rising carefully to his feet, delivered a kick. His boot was very hard upon my knee. Enraged, I picked up my staff and laid it into the sahib's leg. He went down like a chopped tree. Memsahib ran at me brandishing her umbrella. Gently I pulled it out of her grasp and threw it aside. The driver had stayed in the car all this time. Now he too climbed out and attacked me with a cane. I administered a stroke of my staff to him as well, and he went sprawling. By now a sizeable crowd had gathered to watch the fun. The sahib, lying on the ground, spoke up. "Rascal! I'll give you the police." I hefted my staff again and was tempted to apply it to his cranium when the sahib quickly put his palms together and said, "No, no, sir, I won't go in the police, forgive me." I said, "Yes, don't talk of the police, otherwise I'll color your cranium right here. At most they'll put me away for six months, but I'll cure you of this habit permanently. You drive a car and splash people as you go-you're blind from sheer pride. You don't even look to left or right to see if anyone's there." One of the onlookers made a further criticism: "Oh, my dear sir, these motor-wallas know what they're doing, they splatter mud as they go, and when someone's soaked, they watch the fun and laugh merrily. You did very well to fix at least one of them." I shouted at the sahib, "Are you listening to what the people have to say?" The sahib turned his red-eyed glare upon that man and said, "You speak a lie, an absolute lie." I scolded him. "Your arrogance hasn't abated much; should I let you have a few more strokes?" The sahib whimpered, "Oh no, sir, no, he speaks truth, speaks truth. Now you are happy?" Another bystander said, "He can say what he likes now, but as soon as he's back in his car he'll start up his antics all over again. As soon as they sit in a car they think they're the nawab's nephew." One gentleman advised, "Tell him to spit and lick it up." A third said, "No, let him pinch his ear and do sit-ups." A fourth: "And the driver too. These are worse rogues. If a rich man acts proud, that's one thing, but why should you act so high-and-mighty? Your hands touch the steering wheel, and a curtain descends over your eyes!" I accepted this proposal. Both the driver and the owner must pinch their ears and do sit-ups while the memsahib counted. "Listen, memsahib, you'll have to keep the count. A hundred sit-ups, no less. Not one less; more's okay, as much as you want." Two men took the sahib by the arms and lifted him to his feet, and two others the honorable driver. The driver had a wounded leg, but still he began to do the sit-ups. The sahib's arrogance had not diminished by much. He sat down and began to run loose at the mouth. By that time I had become fearsome, a Rudra. I had resolved that I would not let him go without making him do a hundred sit-ups. I told four of the men to push the car off the edge of the road. No sooner said than begun. Instead of four there were forty who put their shoulders to the car. The roadway was built on a high embankment; the ground fell away on either side. The car would go off the road and be smashed to a heap. The car was almost at the edge when the sahib groaned and said, "Sir, please don't break the car, I'll do sit-ups." I ordered the men away, but it had become an entertainment for them. No one paid me any heed. Only when I ran at them with my staff raised did they leave the car and disperse; and the sahib, closing his eyes, began to do the sit-ups. After he'd done ten I asked the memsahib, "How many so far?" The memsahib said huffily, "I not count." "In that case the sahib will stay here all day, groaning like this, I won't let him go. If you want to get him safely home, start counting. Then I'll set him free." The sahib understood that he wouldn't be saved without suffering the penalty, and he resumed his sit-ups. One, two, three, four, five. Suddenly another car was seen coming. The sahib saw it too. He rubbed his nose and said, "Pandit-ji, you is my father! Take pity on me. I'll never sit in a car again." And I did feel some pity. I said, "No, I'm not stopping you from sitting in a car; all I'm saying is that even when you're sitting in a car you should remember that other people are people too." The second car drove up quickly. I signalled. All the bystanders picked up a stone or two. This car was being driven by the owner himself. He slowed down and was trying to slip away when I stepped forward and grabbed his ear and shook him vigorously, then slapped him soundly on both cheeks. "Don't splash mud with your car, understand? Go quietly on your way." This gentleman began to chatter, but then he saw the crowd standing with stones in their hands, and without twitching his tail or ear he drove away meekly. A minute later another car appeared. I told fifty men to bar the way. The car stopped. Him too I bade farewell with four slaps; but this poor fellow was a true gentleman. He endured the slaps quietly and drove on. Suddenly someone shouted, "Here come the police!" In an instant everyone disappeared! I too clambered off the road, stepped into an alleyway, and was gone. Continue to "Dear Editor". Return to the introduction. Discuss this story.