# The Modern Review/Volume 11/Number 1/The Cabuliwallah

Illustrated by Nandalal Bose. Original story (কাবুলিওয়ালা) first published in Sadhana, Agrahayan 1299 B.E. (November-December, 1892).
THE CABULIWALLAH
A Short Story by Rabindranath Tagore: Translated by the Sister Nivedita.
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 cannot feel so. To see Mini quiet is so unnatural that I cannot bear it long. And so my own conversation with her is always animated.
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 door-keeper 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 remark, "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 overlooked 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 Protap Singh the hero had just caught Kanchanlata the heroine in his arms, and both were about to escape by the third storey window of the Castle,—when all of a sudden Mini left her play, and ran to the window, crying "A Cabuliwallah! a Cabuliwallah!" Sure enough in the street below was a Cabuliwallah 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 Cabuliwallah turned and looked up at the child. When she saw this, however, overcome by terror, she turned to flee to her Mother's protection and completely disappeared. She had a blind belief that inside the bag that 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.
My first impulse, precarious as was the position of my hero and my heroine, was to stop and buy something, since the man had been called. So 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, however, 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.
But she stood by my chair, and looked at the Cabuliwallah and his bag. He offered 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.
The Cabuliwallah.
By Babu Nanda Lal Bose.
By the courtesy of Babu Rabindranath Tagore.
​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 that unfortunate coin had made twice its own worth of trouble! For the Cabuliwallah 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 Cabuliwallah gave it me", said Mini cheerfully.
"The Cabuliwallah 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 the impending disaster, and proceeded to make my own enquiries.
It was not the first or second time, I found, that the two had met. The Cabuliwallah had overcome the child's first terror by a judicious bribery of nuts and almonds, and the two were now great friends.
They had a succession of quaint jokes which afforded them much amusement. Seated in front of him, looking down on his gigantic frame in all her tiny dignity, Mini's face would ripple over with laughter, and she would begin, "O Cabuliwallah, Cabuliwallah, 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 Cabuliwallah, not to be behindhand, would begin in 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, only 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 Cabuliwallah'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 so 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 discomforted 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 would go 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 distant wilds. Perhaps all the more because I lead such a vegetable existence that a call to travel would fall upon me like a thunderbolt, do the scenes of travel conjure themselves up before me, and pass and repass in my imagination. In the presence of this Cabuliwallah 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 them queer old firearms, and some of them 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 individual. 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 this terror. So she was full of doubts about the Cabuliwallah, and used to beg me to keep a watchful eye on him.
I tried to laugh her fear gently away, ​but then she would round on me seriously and ask me solemn questions.
Were children never kidnapped?
Was it, then, not true that there was slavery in Cabul?
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 so 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 Rahmud the Cabuliwallah 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 to come suddenly now and then, in the corner of a dark room, upon this tall, loose-garmented, much bebagged man, but when Mini would run in smiling, with her "O! Cabuliwallah! Cabuliwallah!" and the two friends, so unequal in age, would subside into there old laughter and their old jokes, I would feel reassured.
One morning, a few days before the date fixed for his departure, I was correcting my proof sheets in my little 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 on looking out, saw Rahmud being led away bound between two policemen and behind them quite a crowd of curious boys. There were blood-stains on the clothes of the Cabuliwallah, 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, Rahmud 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 Cabuliwallah! Cabuliwallah!" Rahmud's face lighted up as he turned to her. He had no bag under his arm to-day, 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?" Rahmud 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, "Ah", he said, "I would have thrashed that old father-in-law, but my hands are bound!"
On a charge of murderous assault, Rahmud 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 her time more 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 Kailash, 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 much so 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 court-yard 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 someone entered, saluting respectfully, and stood before me. It was Rahmud the Cabuliwallah. 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, Rahmud?" I asked him.
"Last evening", he said, "I was released from jail."
The words struck harsh upon my ear. 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 Cabuliwallah! Cabuliwallah!" 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 anyone 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 hand. 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 come to my eyes. I forgot that he was a poor Cabuli 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 her immediately from the inner apartment. Many dfficulties were raised there, 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 Cabuliwallah 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 Cabuliwallah and my Mini had first met, and I felt sad. When she had gone, Rahmud 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 Rahmud 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, Rahmud, in your own country, and may the happiness of your meeting bring fortune to my child!"
Having made this present, I had to curtail some items of the festivities. I could not have the electric lights I had intended, nor the military band, and the ladies of the house were very despondent over this. But to me the wedding feast was all the brighter for the thought that in a distant land a long lost father had met again with his only child.