A Review of Idgaah by Munshi Premchand

chillibreeze writer — Sudhir Raikar

Munshi Premchand needs no introduction. As an activist writer of his time, he was among the pioneers to lend the fuel of social purpose to the soaring flights of fiction. His work spans the wealth of his Urdu and Hindi writings – short stories, novels, editorials and social commentaries.

But what’s truly sets him apart is his depiction of children in his stories. Child Psychology today has turned a paying profession worldwide – just about everyone from academicians & practitioners to spiritual gurus and celebrities come armed with heavy pearls of wisdom on the subject. The more cosmetic the ‘how to” sermons, the more jaded they appear – ultimately reduced to child-like attempts to read the child’s mind.

In striking contrast, Premchand lends a perceptive window to the world of children - complete with its ambition, hope, despair, anxiety, half-baked beliefs and unveiled dark secrets. Hardly has a child danced in such gay abandon in literature. This is the world the child lives in…. by choice.

A case in point is one of his enlightening works – Idgaah (the Mosque) – a heart-wrenching story – setting the emotions in motion that kids wear naturally ….in thought and action.

This is the story of Haamid, a poor, lean and less privileged kid of five, growing up to the realities of life around him – a life without parents, a life of abject poverty, a life of unfair compromise, a life of social exclusion that threatens to drain the self-springing fountain of his childhood.

But his heart is full of hope – waiting for the day his Abba and Ammi would return from the Durbar of Allah – loaded with money and goodies. Little does he know that his parents have crossed the point of no return.

The only oasis in this arid desert is the warmth of Ameena, his aging grandmother, picking the pieces of hope scattered around them in a desperate attempt to simulate the semblance of a shelter for the poor child.

Precisely why she has kept aside three paisas all along for Id….3 paisas as Haamid’s legendary treasure for the festivities… his humble password to open the doors of the city bazaar of irresistible temptations – toys, sweets, namkins and sherbets…. Given the meager means, let the boy make the choice, if only he can make one.

Haamid does his best, keeping pace with the high aspirations of his more fortunate friends – blessed with the healthy upbringing of a guarded childhood, all of them jiggling coins in their deep pockets as they march towards the city for the merriment that awaits them there.

Haamid is a mute spectator throughout – as the others enjoy the merry-go-rounds, buy the best of toys, savour the mouth-watering sweets and quench their thirst with the soothing sherbets…

His friends tease him and play pranks – enticing him to taste a jilebi and taking it away as soon as Haamid extends his hand forward…. All typical acts of tomfoolery that children play, unaware of the predicament in Haamid’s life that pushes him to the periphery – away from the center of celebration.

Haamid, lost in his bewilderment, passes by a section of shops selling iron wares – an area where children would only trespass unknowingly, if only they would. His eyes fall on a chimtaa – a pair of heavy staid-looking iron tongs – the ones used to pick hot vessels from the stove…..

And almost in a flash, the picture of his poor grandma working on the stove - dances before his twinkling eyes. His heart aches in the agony of the spectacle. Armed with some studied resolve, he casually asks for the price…six paisa, replies the shop keeper.

Disappointed, Haamid offers three paisa – all that he has – and quickly moves ahead, anticipating the choicest expletives from the shopkeeper…But surprised as he is, the man agrees to the transaction without a word, for three paise.

From one challenge to the other. The real struggle is waiting to greet him – facing the ridicule of his friends for the unlikely purchase.

Haamid is not the one to budge. One by one, he checkmates each one of his friends on why his iron tongs makes for a better and enduring toy – all the other ones, however attractive, are brittle, made of mud – destined to fall and perish at the slightest provocation, each one only a source of fleeting moments of ecstasy. And all this while, he yearns for their beautiful toys, cursing his luck that eludes him the sheer pleasure.

His reasoning has now reached the pinnacle. My chimtaa is the only Roostam-e-Hind, he declares, the one who would brave the fury of the fire and emerge victorious, day in and day out. So what, if he would be the Lord of the kitchen – he is a real hero.

Slowly but surely, the young audience surrenders to the power of this irrefutable logic and goes a step further – they are willing to trade their toys for the priceless chimtaa – now the epitome of courage and conviction. But would Haamid be interested in the bargain? No way. The halo of the crowned tongs is not for trade please!

He rushes back home. Ameena secretly hopes he has had a good time. “And what have got home from the bazaar?” She enquires.

Haamid’s answer leaves her perplexed for a second. “Fool, could you not think of anything else, sweating it out in the hot sun without food and water?”

“But don’t you burn your fingers every time you pick a vessel from the burning stove?” Haamid retorts quickly.

And there the conversation ends. Ameena is moved beyond words, tears flowing down her weathered cheeks in a running stream.

Premchand takes the pathos to another level when he concludes – “And this was not the affection that gives it away in the flurry of words. This was the love that best blooms unsaid……..the real treasure that flowers only in the captive fold of the mute experience.

Idgaah brings out the subtle chemistry of a child’s psyche – the indefatigable hope for a better tomorrow, the resolve of mute suffering, the ingenuity in faking bliss, the tenacity to resist temptation, the innate acts of rebellion, the glorious reconciliation with reality ……the towering maturity that defies age and experience.

The more you read it, the more you marvel at its simple, hypnotic charm – precisely why it appeals to kids and adults alike, the resonance maturing in direct proportion to one’s understanding of life.

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Out of 5 “chilies”, our editorial team gave this article...

—About our writer:

Sudhir Raikar, 36, is a cost accountant by qualification but a lost accountant for all pratical purposes. With nothing else to lose but his temper, he has everything to gain from life. Currently tresspassing in the world of information technology for his living, he is a resident of
Mumbai with his family of father, wife & son.

A Review of Idgaah by Munshi Premchand

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