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Kafan (By Munshi Premchand)
At the door of the hut, the father and son sat silently before a dying fire. Inside, the son’s young wife, Budhiya, was writhing in the pains of childbirth, and from time to time such heart-rending cries escaped her lips that both of them clutched their chests.
It was a winter night. The air was filled with silence, and the entire village was drowned in darkness.
Ghisu said, “It seems she will not survive. She has been suffering all day. Go and see how she is.”
Madhav replied in a painful tone, “If she has to die, why doesn’t she die quickly? What is the use of going to see?”
“You are so heartless! The woman you lived with for a whole year, and this is how you treat her?”
They belonged to a Chamar family and were notorious throughout the village. Ghisu worked one day and rested for three. Madhav was so lazy that after working for an hour, he would spend another hour smoking.
Their life was strange. Apart from a few clay pots, they owned nothing. Wrapped in torn rags, they lived carefree, unconcerned about the world.
At that moment, both were roasting potatoes in the fire, which they had dug out from someone’s field. Ghisu’s wife had died long ago. Madhav had been married just a year ago.
Now she had been in labor since morning, dying in pain, while they seemed to be waiting for her to die so they could sleep peacefully.
Ghisu said while peeling a potato, “Go and see her condition. It must be some evil spirit. Even the exorcist asks for one rupee.”
Madhav said, “I feel scared to go inside.”
“Then you go and see.”
“When my wife died, I did not leave her side for three days. And now this one will feel shy. I have never seen her properly, and today I should look at her exposed body?”
Madhav said, “What if a child is born? There is nothing in the house—no ginger, no jaggery, no oil.”
“Everything will come. If God gives a child, people will help. When my children were born, there was nothing, yet somehow everything worked out.”
In a society where hardworking people were not much better off than them, it was not surprising that such a mindset developed.
Both continued eating the hot potatoes quickly. They had not eaten anything since the previous day. Their tongues burned many times, but they swallowed them quickly despite tears coming to their eyes.
Ghisu recalled a feast he had attended twenty years ago at a landlord’s wedding. “I will never forget that feast. Since then, I have never eaten such food."
After eating, they drank water and lay down near the fire, wrapping themselves in their clothes, while Budhiya continued to groan inside.
In the morning, Madhav went inside and found her dead. Flies buzzed around her face. Her eyes were fixed. The child in her womb had also died.
They went to the market to buy a shroud. Ghisu said, “There is enough wood. Now we need a shroud.”
Madhav replied, “Yes, but who sees the shroud at night? What a bad custom—someone who never had clothes in life must have a new shroud after death.”
Instead of buying the shroud, they wandered and reached a liquor shop. As if by agreement, they went inside.
Ghisu said, “What is the use of a shroud? It will burn anyway.”
They ordered food and ate like kings, free from worry or shame. After eating, Madhav gave leftover food to a beggar and felt proud for the first time in his life.
Ghisu said, “Bless her—the one who earned this is gone, but your blessings will reach her.”
Madhav looked at the sky and said, “She will go to heaven. She will become a queen.”
Ghisu said, “Of course she will. If not her, then who? Those rich people who exploit the poor?”
Then suddenly Madhav began to cry, “She suffered so much in life.” Ghisu said, “Why cry? She is free from all suffering.”
Both began singing and dancing in drunkenness. They jumped, staggered, fell, and finally collapsed on the ground.
