Dhanpat Rai Shrivastava (31 July 1880 – 8 October 1936), better known by his pen name Munshi Premchand, was an Indian writer famous for his modern Hindi-Urdu literature. He is one of the most celebrated writers of the Indian subcontinent, and is regarded as one of the foremost Hindi writers of the early twentieth century.
Whenever Jhingur looked at his cane fields a sort of intoxication came over him. He had three bighas of land which would earn him an easy 600 rupees. And if God saw to it that the rates went up, then who could complain, Both his bullocks were old so he’d buy a new pair at the Batesar fair. If he could hook on to another two bighas, so much the better. Why should he worry about money?
In a village of Chandpur Munshi Ramsevak was a very rich man. He could be seen every day seated on a broken bench under a neem tree within the precincts of the open- I~ air small-pleas court. Nobody had ever seen him presenting a brief before the tribunal or arguing a case; but everyone called him ‘attorney’. Whenever he made his way to the open court the villagers crowded after him. He was regarded by everyone with respect and trust, and he was renowned for possessing the eloquence of the divine Saraswati herself.
My big brother was five years older than me but only three grades ahead. He’d begun his studies at the same age I had but he didn’t I like the idea of moving hastily in an important matter like education. He wanted to lay a firm foundation for that great edifice, so he took two years to do one year’s work; sometimes he even took three. If the foundations weren’t well-made, how could the edifice endure?
Halku came in and said to his wife, “The Landlord’s come! Get the rupees you set aside, I’ll give him the money. Munni had been sweeping. She turned around and said, ‘But there’s only three rupees. If you give them to him where’s the blanket going to come from? How are you going to get through these January nights in the fields! Tell him we’ll pay him after the harvest, not right now.
Well it’s like this: early in the morning I finish off my bath and my prayers, paint a vermillion circle on ;my forehead, get into my yellow robe and wooden sandals, tuck my astrological charts under my arm, grab hold of my stick a regular skull-cracker–and start out for a client’s house. I was supposed to settle the right day for a wedding; it was going to earn me at least a rupee. Over and above the breakfast. And my breakfast is no ordinary breakfast. Common clerks don’t have the courage to invite me to a meal. A whole month of breakfasts for them is just one day’s meal for me.