"THE CHESS PLAYERS": FROM PREMCHAND TO SATYAJIT RAY

Author(s): Frances W. Pritchett

Source: Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. 21, No. 2, ESSAYS ON PREMCHAND
(Summer, Fall 1986), pp. 65-78
Published by: Asian Studies Center, Michigan State University
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Frances W. Pritchett

"THE CHESS PLAYERS": FROM PREMCHAND TO SATYAJIT RAY

From short story to film

Near the end of his life, Premchand was asked to explain how he wrote his
stories. He replied with a short essay in which he maintained that every story
needed to develop toward a climax of some kind:

I do not write a story just for relating an incident. I

want to depict some philosophical and emotional truth in it.
Until I find some such basis my pen does not move. On find-
ing the basis I create my characters. ... I cannot write
a story until and unless it is fully developed from the be-
ginning to the end in my mind. I develop the characters
from the point of view that they should be in accordance
with the story. I do not consider it necessary to make an
interesting incident the basis of my story. If in a story
there is a psychological climax, then it may be related to
any incident, I do not care. . . .

The point about the climax was an important one, and he elaborated it. He
denied that a story could be created "merely by using beautiful and smart
words, and a brilliant style." Rather, a story must have "a climax, and that
also a psychological one." And the whole story must "move in such an order
that the climax should keep on drawing nearer."'

Any reader of Premchand 's stories knows that his practice follows his
theory. Characters are developed "in accordance with the story," the action
moves steadily toward a climax, and the climax itself is not only "psychologi-
cal" but also designed to "depict some philosophical and emotional truth."
Such climaxes occur at the end of virtually all Premchand 's stories. In some
the climax is apparent to the characters; it is a turning point in their lives;
it causes marked changes in their attitudes or behavior. "Bare bhãT sahab"
(My Older Brother), "Mukti-mãrg" (The Path to Salvation), and "Pus ki rat" (A
January Night) are stories of this kind. In other stories, however, the char-
acters do not change but merely carry their typical behavior further and fur-
ther until it reaches some final extreme. This extreme is so striking, so
egregious, that its impact on the reader forms a real "psychological climax"
to the story. Some of Premchand' s most successful pieces are of this latter
kind- stories like "Kafan" (The Shroud) and "DQdh kã dam" (The Price of Milk).

Another work which belongs in this latter group is Hindi story "¿atrañj ke
khilari"" (The Chess Players), first published in 1924. This work offers, as we
will see, a particularly clear example of Premchand's commitment to his theory
of narrative structure. And the story is noteworthy for another reason as
well: in 1977 Satyajit Ray made it into a Hindi (or rather, Urdu) film. This
film, also called èatranj ke khilari, was Ray's first big-budget Hindi film and
has received a great deal of critical attention. Out of Premchand's 288 or so
stories, Ray chose this one to film. Those familiar with Ray's great gifts as
a filmmaker may well wish to look at the original story, and especially at the
ways in which Ray has transformed it.

Premchand's story takes place in the colorful, cultivated Lucknow of Nawab

Yajid Ali Shah's day; the climax of the story coincides with the British
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annexation of the nawab's whole kingdom of Avadh in 1856. Here 1s how Prem-
chand begins his story:2
1

It was the time of Vajid A11 Shah. Luc know was ab-
sorbed 1n vilãsitã [enjoyment, pleasure, luxurîousness, sen-
suality]. Great and small, rich and poor, all were absorbed
1n vilasita. If one person arranged music and dance perfor-
mances, then the next took pleasure only 1n the Intoxication
of opium. In every department of life, enjoyment and merry-
making prevailed. In government, 1n literature, 1n social
conditions, In arts and crafts, 1n Industry, 1n cuisine,
everywhere vilasita was becoming pervasive. Government
servants were absorbed in sensual Indulgence, poets In the
description of love and lovers1 separation, craftsmen 1n
making gold and silver thread work and delicate embroidery,
artisans in earning a livelihood from eye shadow, perfume,
missi [a powder used to color the teeth], and oils.
Everyone's eyes were overspread with the Intoxication
of vilãsitã. No one knew what was happening in the world.
Quail are fighting. Bets are being made on partridge
fights. Here the causar board [a pachis1-Hke game] is
spread, shouts of "I've thrown a six!" are heard. There
the terrible combat of chess has begun. From king to pau-
per, all were drunk with this same mood. So much so that
when mendicants were given coins, they did not buy bread but
ate opium or smoked madak [an opium-based preparation].^

This brief inventory of luxurious pursuits- music, dance, opium-smoking,

poetry, clothes, cosmetics, cuisine, quail fights, games- is given in a casual
and perfunctory way. All this local color, so evocative and fascinating to
others, all these Lucknowi tastes about which whole books have been written
- all these are merely examples being mentioned to prove a point. Far from
being described or differentiated, they are lumped together as various aspects
of Luck now 's total, universal vilãsitã (enjoyment, pleasure, luxuriousness,
sensuality). Music, dance, poetry, embroidery, opium, and chess are all
equally facets of vilãsitã 3 and it is this vilasita itself, as an abstract
moral concept, with which Premchand is primarily concerned. Once he has, by a
kind of inductive generalization, made us familiar with the idea of vilãsitã,
he has no further interest in Lucknowi local color. The activities mentioned
so summarily in these two opening paragraphs are not (except for chess
tioned again in the whole course of the story.

Premchand thus begins his story by speaking to us authoritatively, tell-

ing us general truths, judging a whole culture in a way which seeks to compel
our consent. He then introduces the two Lucknowi aristocrats, Mirza Sajjad
AH and Mir Raushan Ali, who have inherited such wealth and social position
that they are free to indulge their passion for what he calls with seeming sar-
casm the "terrible combat" (ghor sangram) of chess. He tells us also how those
around the two players react to this passion. The two stage their daily "bat-
tle" (larãi) at Mirza1 s house, and Mirza 's neighbors and servants make mali-
cious remarks about their obsession. Mirza1 s wife seeks to scold her husband,
but he starts playing so early and continues till so late that she hardly gets
a chance. Finally she claims to have a headache, demands his attention, cre-
ates a scene, upsets the chessboard, and flings the pieces away. The game is
then moved to Mir' s house. There too the servants, resenting the extra work,
pretend moral disapproval; the neighbors mutter; Mir's faithless wife is dis-
gusted at having less freedom to meet her lover.

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 At this point Premchand once again Interrupts his Immediate story to make
sweeping judgements about the state of the whole society. This time the ur-
gency 1s greater: vilasita Is a chronic condition, but Its consequences are
reaching a critical stage:
2

Lamentation was raised In the realm. Day by day the

people were being looted. No one listened to their com-
plaints. All the wealth of the countryside was being drawn
Into Lucknow and squandered on prostitutes, jesters, and
other kinds of vilasita. Day by day the debt to the English
Company kept growing. Day by day the blanket grew wetter
and felt heavier. Because there was no proper administra-
tion In the country, even the annual revenue was not
received. The [British] resident repeatedly gave warnings,
but people here were besotted with the drunkenness of vila-
sita; no one had the least Idea what was happening. (274)
In this time of growing national peril, Mir and Mirza too undergo hard-
ship. The tension of their dally chess battles frays their nerves, and they
are sometimes on the verge of quarreling. But even 1f they go so far as to
break up the game In a fit of pique, they are reconciled and ready to play
again by the next morning. The outside world, however, subjects them to hard-
ship as well. M1r's wife's lover poses as a messenger from the nawab and de-
mands Mir's services for the army. This scheme to drive Mir from the house Is
successful. Hurriedly Mir and Mirza move their chessboard to a desolate place
near a ruined mosque on the riverbank. They play there dally, with only a
brief break for lunch at some roadside shop. So absorbed 1n the chess "battle-
field" ( sahgram-ksetra) do they become that they sometimes forget to eat.

As they play one day, Mir and Mirza see British troops march Into Lucknow.
Only Mir, who 1s losing, expresses perfunctory regret at this sight; Mirza,
who Is winning, rightly suspects an attempt to distract his mind from the
game. The two know that Lucknow will remain quiet: "Nothing will be happening
1n the city. People will have eaten their meals and will be sleeping peace-
fully. His Highness the nawab too will be In the pleasure house," they cynic-
ally conclude. They then continue their game. Here Premchand breaks Into the
story once again to articulate his bitterest and most passionate words:
3

Never before could the king of an Independent country

have been defeated so peacefully, without bloodshed, like
this. This was not the ahifnsã [nonviolence] with which the
gods are pleased. This was the kind of cowardice at which
even the biggest cowards shed tears. The nawab of the
spacious land of Avadh was departing as a prisoner, and
Lucknow was drunk In the sleep of sensual pleasure. This
was the last extreme of political decay. (277)

As the British bear off Yajid AH Shah Into captivity, the chess players
are still absorbed In their game. This time Mirza 1s losing, and It 1s he who
notices and laments the disaster, while M1r firmly recalls his mind to matters
of greater urgency:

Mirza said: "The brutes have taken his highness the

nawab prisoner."

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 Mir: "All right, so they have. I'm putting you in
check."

Mirza: "Sir, just wait a bit, please. My heart isn't

in it right now. The poor nawab must be weeping tears of
blood now."

Mir: "Well, so he should. This luxury will never fall

to his lot there! There, check!"
Mirza: "No one's fortune continues the same all his
life. What a pitiful situation it is."
Mir: "Yes, of course it is- take that, check again!
And this time it's checkmate; you can't escape."

Mirza: "By God, you're really heartless. Even seeing

such a major calamity doesn't make you sad. Alas, poor
Yajid Ali Shah!"

Mir: "Please save your own king first and mourn for
the nawab later. There, check, and there, mate! Come on,
concedei" (277)

This seizure of their country and king by the British, an event which ought to
have been deeply feared and energetically resisted, remains a kind of non-
event, a climax manque. Premchand denounces all Lucknow for cowardice and
political decadence in language as forcefully contemptuous as possible. And
in the wonderfully funny and ironic dialogues between Mir and Mirza as they
sit over their perpetual chess game, Premchand shows us how fully they share
their city's attitude.

But after the climax manqué of British conquest, Premchand is finally

ready to end his story- with the real climax to which it has been building all
along. Mir and Mirza, who have been undergoing progressively severe hard-
ships for the sake of their chess game, are to have their moment of heroism
after all. Mirza has lost three games in a row and finds himself losing the
fourth as well; suffering from "the wound of defeat," he picks a quarrel over
a point of chess etiquette. Feelings run so high that the two begin to cast
aspersions on each other's nobility of descent. Finally, they draw their
swords and prepare for a fight to the death:
5

Both were vilasl [pleasure-lovers] but they were not cow-

ards. Political feelings had decayed in them- for the king,
for the kingdom, why should they die? But there was no lack
of personal courage. Both assumed their positions, the
swords gleamed and clashed. Both were wounded and fell, and
both, writhing in pain, died. Those from whose eyes not one
tear fell for their king, those same two living beings gave
their lives protecting their chess queens.

Darkness had come. The game board was spread. Both

kings, seated on their royal thrones, seemed to be mourning
for the death of the two heroes.

Silence had spread all around. The broken arches of

the ruin, the fallen walls, and the dusty minarets saw these
corpses and grieved. (280)
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Here, with this most striking "psychological climax/ the story ends. The
"terrible combat of chess"~a description that seemed sarcastic at the
beginning of the story--has claimed Its victims after all.
Since attention Is focused on the steady development of the story toward
this climax, It Is not surprising that Premchand chooses to omit most details
of Lucknowl culture and atmosphere. He wants to direct the reader's attention
to the moral and political drama at the center of the stage. This drama Is
one of obsession: Mir and Mirza Uve entirely In their own chess world. Within
It they are energetic, purposeful, devoted. While they are not really admi-
rable, certainly the other characters In the story appear even less admirable.
The lazy, hypocritical servants, Mirza's self-centered wife, Mir's adulterous
wife with her deceitful lover- all seem better examples of the decadent and
Indolent side of vilãsitã than do the chess players themselves, whose devotion
to chess Is at least active and sincere. Although Premchand condemns the chess
players and deplores their political Indifference, he Insists on their personal
courage. They Ignore events In the real world which should have been the
climax of their lives, but which Instead barely attract their attention. But
what they will not do for their "real" king (who Is himself hopelessly sunk In
vilasita) they unhesitatingly do for the kings of their chess world. They die
-and the ruins among which they die grieve for them. They are heroes (vïr)
who waste their heroism (vlrtã ) In a tiny artificial world; but Premchand
surrounds their death with an odd kind of dignity and ends the story on what
can only be called an el égale note.

Throughout the story Premchand Is much more Interested In condemning Luck-

nowl culture than In portraying It. His use of language contributes to this
effect of distance and hostility. Rather than drawing us Into the Lucknowl at-
mosphere, his language removes us from It. In narrating the story, Premchand
conspicuously rejects most of the Perso-Arabie words actually used In Yajid
All Shah's Lucknow In favor of pointedly Sanskrîtic ones. Premchand, familiar
with Urdu from boyhood, often used Perso-Arabie words In his Hindi stories
where they seemed appropriate. In this story particularly, the only one of
his stories to center wholly on Lucknow and Lucknowl culture, his narrator's
Insistence on a heavily Sanskrîtic vocabulary makes a strong political point.

For In fact the narrator carries his aversion to Perso-Arabie words yery
far. Itemizing the different forms of vilãsitã he finds Lucknowl poets ab-
sorbed In the "description of love and lovers' separation": "Kavigan prem aur
virah ke varnan men . . . lipt the" (269). Any Hindi speaker concerned to
evoke classical Lucknowl poetry even accurately, much less vividly, could
easily write something like Sãyar ièq aur firãq ke hayan men . . . masruf the.
Similarly, later In the story the hookah which, the chess players " smoke burns
"like the heart of some lover"- not "kisï ãsiq ke dil kí taráh, " but "kist
premi ke hrday kl bhãhti" (273). Even today colloquial Hindi retains words
like àãyar, iâq, ãàiq, and dil in exactly such Urdu-influenced romantic
contexts, and lipt and bhahti are surely less common than masrüf and tarah.
Most prominent of all is the ubiquitous Sanskritic abstract noun vilãsitã,
which is used to sum up and condemn Lucknowi culture. Only rarely does Prem-
chand use such Sanskritic vocabulary to sharpen rather than blunt an Image: the
chess players are so absorbed that "koï yogi bht samadhi men itnã ekãgra na hotã
hogã"- "probably no yogi in deep meditation had ever been so intent" (276).
The characters themselves do, of course, use Perso-Arabie words rather
than the sanskritized language which Premchand as narrator insists upon. They
occasionally use exclamations that show their identity as Muslims (vallahy haz-
rat husain kl qasam) , and Mirza's wife uses a few characteristically feminine
expressions (nigori, nauj, nikhattü); but generally they speak simple standard
Urdu, devoid of special flourishes. Conversations in the story are informal,
involving only Mir and Mirza (who are social equals and old friends), their
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wives, and various servants; there 1s thus no occasion for the famous Lucknowl
formality, courtesy, and elegance 1n conversation. When the chess players are
together, they speak laconically by choice: "Except for a few words like
'check' and 'checkmate,1 no other sentences left their lips" (276). In
language as 1n other dimensions of the story, local color 1s the last thing
Premchand wants to offer us.

The Hindi story "SÍatrañj ke khilãrT," on which this discussion 1s based,

was published In the journal Madhurï (Sweetness; Lucknow) 1n 1924. Some time
1n the next few years, but before 1928, Premchand published an Urdu version of
the same story*called "Shafcranj kT bãzT" (The Chess Game) In a volume of
stories entitled Khvãb-o-khayãl (Dreams and Visions). Many of Premchand's
stories were published in this fashion, 1n separate Hindi and Urdu versions.
Unfortunately, it is often impossible to determine which version of a given
story Premchand first wrote. The version first published may reflect merely
chance or convenience rather than prior composition. Usually the Hindi and
Urdu versions of a story differ somewhat from each other. In the case of this
story, they differ in ways which perhaps illumine some of the points made above
about Premchand's use of language.

In the Urdu story "Shatranj kí bãzT," Premchand's narrator is deprived of

the kind of distancing effect which could be achieved through the use of a San-
skritic vocabulary in the Hindi story. The narrator 1s obliged to use Urdu
terms for all the characteristic Lucknowl habits, customs, and attitudes. Some
of these terms ( raish-o- rishrats nashah3 saqhav-o-¿amy nishãt kï mabfileh,
etc.) have distinctly positive, romantic connotations as well as pejorative
ones. In Urdu Premchand cannot condemn by keeping his distance; perhaps in re-
action he becomes a bit more scathing and specific 1n his indictment. He elab-
orates; he adds a few details; he makes eyery point a bit more vehemently.
Compare the beginnings of the two stories:5
Urdu Version Hindi Version

1. It was the time of Nawab Vajid 1. It was the time of Vajid Ali
AH Shah. Shah.

2. Lucknow was absorbed in a life- 2. Lucknow was absorbed in vilãsitã.

style of pleasure and enjoyment.

3. Great and small, rich and poor- 3. Great and small, rich and poor
all were engaged in Indulging were all absorbed in vilãsitã.
themselves.

4. If somewhere joyous gatherings 4. If one person arranged music and

were arranged, then someone else dance performances, then the
took pleasure in the intoxica- next took pleasure only in
tion of opium. drinking opium.

5. In every department of life, 5. In every department of life, en-

drunkenness and licentiousness joyment and merrymaking pre-
prevailed. vailed.

6. In government, literature and 6. In government, literature, so-

poetry, social behavior, arts cial conditions, arts and
and crafts, in industry and crafts, Industry, cuisine-
commerce- everywhere was the everywhere vilãsitã was becom-
craze for sensuality. ing pervasive.
7. Nobles of the realm were becom- 7. Government servants were ab-
ing slaves to wine drinking, sorbed in sensual indulgence,
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 Urdu Version Hindi Version -

poets were intoxicated with poets in description of love and

kisses and embraces, craftsmen lovers' separation, craftsmen in
with making gold and silver- making gold and sii ver- thread
thread work and delicate em- work and delicate embroidery,
broidery, soldiers with part- artisans in earning a liveli-
ridge fighting; artisans were hood from eye shadow, perfume,
devoted to buying and selling misst-j and oils.
perfume and oil, eye shadow and
missu

8. In short, the whole country was 8.

held fast in the shackles of
sensuality.

9. Everyone's eyes were overspread 9. Everyone's eyes were overspread

with the intoxication of wine with the intoxication of vilã-
flask and goblet. sita.

10. No one knew what was happening 10. No one knew what was happening
in the world, with what scien- in the world.
tific inventions it was ab-
sorbed, how the western nations
kept conquering land and sea.

11. Quail are fighting. 11. Quail are fighting.

12. Bets are being made on part- 12. Bets are being made on part-
ridge fights. ridge fights.

13. Here causar is going on; shouts 13. Here the causar board is spread;
of "I've thrown six!" are heard. shouts of "I've thrown a six!"
are heard.

14. There the battles of chess have 14. There the terrible combat of
begun. chess has begun.

15. Armies are being annihilated. 15.

16. The nawab's condition was even 16. From king to pauper, all were
worse than this. drunk with this same mood.

17. Here melodies and rhythms were 17.

invented.

18. New tricks, new prescriptions 18.

for sensual pleasure kept being
devised.

19. So much so that when mendicants 19. So much so that when mendicants
were given coins, instead of were given coins, they didn't
buying bread they took pleasure buy bread but ate opium or
in madak and candü [an opium- smoked madak.
based smoking preparation].

Many discrepancies between the versions can be seen, and they generally con-
tribute to greater length and more comprehensive detail in the Urdu version.
Most conspicuously, sentences 8, 15, 17, 18, and most of sentence 10 appear
only 1n the Urdu version.

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 This pattern is, moreover, continued throughout the story. Whole sen-
tences appear in the Urdu version which do not appear at all in the Hindi.
This is particularly the case in narrative rather than dialogue passages, and
above all, in passages which express Premchand's moral disapproval of Lucknowi
culture most strongly. Passage 2 from the Hindi story (translated above), for
example, includes in its Urdu version more details about the ways rich young
Lucknowis spent their money on "jesters, mimes, dancers, and courtesans. Gold
pieces rained down on the shops for hookah-smoking. Rich young men threw away
a gold piece with every puff1 (68). And in the Urdu version, just before pas-
sage 4 we find the following bitterly effective simile: "The nawab departed
from his house the way a bride, weeping and beating her breast, goes to her in-
laws' house. The begams wept. The nawab wept. The maidservants wept. The
ladies-in-waiting wept. And that was that; the kingdom came to an end1 (73).

Such greater detail is not, however, always such a gain to the story as
in this passage. The ending of the story suffers badly in the Urdu version.
While in the Hindi story the ruins of the mosque "saw these corpses, and
grieved1 (passage 5), in the Urdu story they "saw these corpses. And they la-
mented the transience of human life, which was not even as enduring as stone
and brick" (77). The explicit moralizing of the latter passage is much less
effective than the simplicity and suggestiveness of the former.

Such instances, large and small, of increased detail at crucial points in

the Urdu story are typical. By contrast, passages present only in the Hindi
story are few and tend to be matter-of-fact rather than emotionally charged.
It is not my purpose to contrast the two versions in detail, but only to point
out one conspicuous and relatively consistent way in which they differ. It
seems to me that this difference reflects Premchand's use of the linguistic
resources available to him. In Hindi, he judges Lucknowi culture more ab-
stractly, from a distance, in a language quite alienated from that of the cul-
ture itself. In Urdu, he judges Lucknowi culture more specifically and in more
detail, with all the force he can command. He must exert himself to overcome
the increased intimacy and evocative, romantic power of the Urdu vocabulary he
cannot help but use.

It is true that any close analysis of Premchand's language must be done

with a certain amount of caution, for Premchand was notoriously careless about
what were to him small matters of word choice. He was often pressed for time
and produced slapdash Hindi versions of stories originally written in Urdu and
vice versa. In the later part of his career he sometimes hired others to do
this work of transliteration and vocabulary modification for him, and did not
always supervise their work carefully. Since it is difficult in most cases to
know whether the Hindi or the Urdu version is the original, there remains a
residue of uncertainty about the literary significance of particular details
and word choices in his stories. Whether or not Premchand's conscious artis-
tic intentions in his choice of language can be demonstrated, it seems to me
that the language does have the effects that I describe, and that Premchand
may well have found himself working, consciously or unconsciously, along
something like the lines I suggest. Comparisons between the Hindi and Urdu
versions of others of his stories might shed some light on such problems of
style. "Satrañj ke khilãn" and "Shatranj kí bãzT" might, for example, be
contrasted with the Hindi and Urdu versions of "IdgahV'Idgah" (Id-Festival
Grounds) first published in Urdu in 1933, which offers one of Premchand's y/ery
few highly sympathetic, even admiring, portrayals of Muslim culture. But all
such close analysis of style can claim only a tentative kind of validity.
Fundamental textual uncertainties remain in the case of all too many stories,
and we have no means of dispelling them.

If in this paper I generally confine myself to the Hindi story "¿atrañj

ke khilãrT," the first version to be published, it is mostly for the sake of
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simplicity. Premchand himself would certainly have felt that the discrep-
ancies In the two versions were much less Important than their similarities,
for 1n both versions the plot 1s the same. And for Premchand, of course, the
Interest of the story centers on this plot-which steadily progresses towards
a "psychological climax.11 Premchand as narrator breaks Into the action at
critical points to Introduce each phase of the plot In turn. First, he sets
the stage by describing chronic vilãsitã as the crucial defining feature of
Luck- nowl life; second, he warns that vilãsitã Is leading Avadh rapidly
toward ruin; third, he describes the ruin and denounces all Lucknow for allow-
ing Its king to be so bloodlessly captured; fourth, he describes the fatal
battle bravely fought by M1r and M1rza In defense of their chess kings. The
progression 1s from normalcy of a kind, through danger, through disaster (the
climax manqué) , to death (the real climax). Premchand 's narrative organiza-
tion 1s thus made very explicit within the story Itself. The story Is, like
most of Premchand 's other works, ultimately a moral tale.

Of course, the way Premchand Intended the story to be read 1s not neces-
sarily the way we enjoy reading It today. We may read Premchand for his know-
ledge of village life, his feeling for colloquial conversation, his wide sympa-
thies, etc., etc., rather than for the well -constructed plots over which he
took such pains. In this story we may enjoy the lively temper of Mirza's wife,
the pious Innuendos of the servants, and above all, the totally absurd yet com-
pletely serious conversations of the two chess players on the riverbank as
their country 1s Invaded and their king led away captive. We may feel Prem-
chand's heavy-handed, Insistent moralizing and his didactic, all-too-well ex-
plicated plot weigh down the lighter and better-written dialogue passages like
bars of lead. But we must recognize that Premchand Installed that lead delib-
erately. We may disregard the author's Intentions when we read the story- but
we owe It to him to recognize that we have done so.

If we read the story as a series of vignettes rather than a plot with a

climax, we are moving to a lower level of generality than the one Premchand
wished to emphasize. But It Is equally Interesting to consider the story at a
higher level of generality, for Its central Idea - the juxtaposition of Luck-
now's political Ufe with a chess game- Is a provocative one. As for the two
chess players themselves, the extreme point has been reached In their Uves:
they Identify themselves primarily as subjects of their chess kings. "Please
save your own king first and mourn for the nawab later" says Mir to Mirza. Yet
Yajid A11 Shah 1s not so different from a chess king after all, not so much
more "real." He Is passive, sunk In vilãsitã unable to act or even to under-
stand what occurs. The chess kings are as powerful as Vajid AH Shah- more
powerful, 1n fact, since each has one retainer loyal to the death, while Vajid
AH Shah has none.

Moreover, the chess world Itself Is not so different from the world In
which, according to Premchand, most Lucknowis Uve. The people of Lucknow
devote their Uves to pastimes fully as specialized as chess (poetry, cuisine,
fashion, etc.) or exist 1n the dreamworld of opium. The Inhabitants of these
small, brittle, self-contained universes can no more defend themselves against
Incursions from the real world than can chess pieces defend themselves against
the upsetting of the chessboard. In addition, they rely on the outside world
for constant transfusions of money, which must be extorted from the peasants
or borrowed from the British. Lucknow's fragile game world Is doomed, and we
feel the Inevitability of Its passing.

But just as Premchand Is not writing a series of humorous vignettes, he

1s not writing a meditation on cultural decay. He 1s writing a cautionary
moral tale about the corrupting effects of vilãsitã. M1r and Mirza are admir-
able only for their personal courage: they are vilãst% Premchand tells us, but
not cowards; they have no lack of personal courage. Their fight to the death,
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however arbitrary and unmotivated 1t may seem to the modern reader, estab-
lishes their courage (as well as their inability to use 1t properly) beyond a
doubt. Why should Preme han d grant this particular mitigating grace, courage,
to representative members of the culture he so thoroughly condemns? Perhaps
because he was a romantic in a very literal sense: a reader of romances. As a
child and young man, he grew up on the classic Urdu dãstãn literature, espe-
cially Tilism-e-hoshrubã (Sense-Stealing Enchantment, 7 vols., 1881-1892) and
on the melodramatic novels of G. W. M. Reynolds (1814-1873) 1n Urdu transla-
tion. Fights to the death 1n hand-to-hand combat over Issues of personal
honor were everyday occurrences in those worlds and did not need much explana-
tion. Similarly in Luck now, Premchand tells us, gentlemen were always armed
and prepared for Instant combat: "It was the time of the nawabs; everyone wore
sword, dagger, poignard, etc." (279-80).° But, of course, the revelation of
the chess players1 courage also serves to intensify the sense of loss at the
end of the story: we regret the death of a culture that had such a redeeming
feature. Mockery is replaced by elegy, and Premchand accords the two Lucknowis
in death a dignity which he never accorded them in Hfe. Whence the feeling of
"psychological climax" the reader is meant to experience. Premchand1 s judgment
is severe and absolutely serious: Lucknow's political decay 1s not, finally,
farcical or absurd, but tragic. Indians must learn from it so that it will
never be repeated.

When Satyajit Ray and his team turned "¿atranj ke khilãn" Into a film,
they made a number of additions to the plot. The British Resident, General
Outram, and Nawab Yajid Ali Shah himself become major characters. A host of
minor characters associated with them also appear: the nawab's minister, his
mother, his courtiers; the resident's translator, his friends, his aides. As
for the chess players themselves, their domestic life 1s more elaborately
described. Mirza's quarrel with his sulky wife 1s expanded into a Hindi-
film-style seduction scene, while Mir is given a kind of bedroom-farce scene
with his faithless wife and her lover. Mir and Mirza are also given a few
social contacts. At one point they go to call on an acquaintance, hoping to
borrow his chess pieces. At another point, an old Hindu friend comes to call
(interrupting their game) and teaches them the British style of chess- which
they later adopt. The universe of the film 1s a much larger and more well-
rounded vision of Lucknow than that of the story.
This greater attention to the full scope of Lucknowl life is also evident
in the film's language. All the characters (including the unseen narrator who
introduces the film) speak the formal, sumptuous, highly persianized Urdu
associated with the Lucknowl elite of this period- except the servants, who
speak a musical kind of Avadhi, the local dialect. And the narrator's tone
when he speaks of Lucknow and its decline 1s regretful, fatalistic, roman-
tically melancholy- in contrast to Premchand's harsh criticisms. Even a
single word of Sanskritic Hindi would be a jarring Intrusion into this ele-
gant, classically Lucknowi atmosphere. (The introductory cartoons that
simplistically "explain" British imperialism are, to my mind, an irritating
intrusion; fortunately they are fairly brief). Vilasita is not, as in the
story, abstractly described and then vigorously condemned; rather, Lucknowl
tastes, pleasures, and luxuries are shown, with a minimum of direct comment.
Settings, scenery, dress, music and dance, poetry- everything 1s presented 1n
careful, colorful detail. "In the Kathak scene," Ray writes, "both the details
and the colour scheme conform to engravings of that period. The scene 1s a
yery close replica of the miniatures of that period. Even the cat comes from
a drawing by an artist of Wajid's court."7 In marked contrast to the story,
the film is closely attentive to Lucknowl culture and presents Its refinements
very attractively.

A detailed study of the film 1s forthcoming and will be welcome. 8 For

our present purposes, however, none of the above changes Is as significant as
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the change 1n the character of the chess players themselves. Ray's chess play-
ers are buffoons, comic figures from start to finish. In front of a visitor
M1rza even boasts of his courage, flourishing as ancestral sword and vowing to
annihilate all enemies. Like Premchand's chess players, the two end up play-
Ing chess on the riverbank as the British are about to Invade. And like Prem-
chand's chess players, they quarrel over a point of chess etiquette. Their
quarrel deepens Into mortal offense--not because they Insult each other's
nobility of descent, as 1n the story, but because Mirza ridicules Mir as a
cuckold. M1r pulls out a pistol. Mirza 1s abjectly terrified. M1r's hands
too are unsteady and he fires by accident. Both are momentarily paralyzed, but
fortunately M1r has missed. Chastened, the two return to their game-playing
1n the British style. Finally, the British pass by on their way into Lucknow,
and the film ends.

One reviewer said of the film that Ray had carried his comedy "to the
verge of slapstick" and had made the chess players Into a kind of "Laurel and
Hardy."9 Gone Is the unhesitating personal courage, the strong, If mis-
guided, sense of honor which led the original Mir and Mirza (who never boasted
of their heroism) to die 1n a hand-to-hand sword battle. In the film, the two
have one gun between them; Its accidental firing totally unnerves them, and
they are quite Incapable of any fighting at all. Ray omits their fight to the
death for exactly the reason Premchand Included 1t: because It formed a kind of
climax to the narrative. "The Idea of the two friends killing each other was
abandoned because I felt It might be taken to symbolise the end of decadence,"
as Ray has explained.10 With the chess players turned Into "Laurel and
Hard/ figures, the real dramatic center of the film becomes the struggle
between Outram and Yajid All Shah. Outram feels doubt and guilt, but he grud-
gingly acts- 1n a manner which he knows to be unjust. Vajid All Shah, a
dreamy, self-absorbed, poetic dilettante, feels all kinds of conflicting emo-
tions-and does not act at all.

The film thus shares with the story a basic atmosphere of hollownes
dissatisfaction, a dearth of admirable or even likable characters. Both Prem-
chand and Ray portray a society that has decayed from within. The British do
not so much conquer It as simply take It over. Ray adds to the general sense
of futility by making It clear that the Incoming British themselves are ex-
ploitative, self-Interested, unable to offer any hope of moral regeneration.
The old regime departs unlamented (except by a handful of aristocrats); the
new regime arrives unwelcomed (except by a peasant boy, excited at seeing the
soldiers pass). Ray shows us little hope or sincerity anywhere- only a perva-
sive sense of weariness, Inertia, anticlimax.

If the spectacle of Lucknow's decline and fall Is such a bleak one, why
should Ray bull d a mass-market film around It? Out of all Premchand's stories,
why should It be this one that Ray chose to film? Perhaps Ray, like Premchand,
found that the fall of Lucknow was a part of Indian history with which he had
to come to terms. Ray himself has described the painstaking historical re-
search he did, both on the period In general and the character of Yajid All
Shah In particular before making the film. When criticized, he cared enough
to defend the film's historical accuracy at some length in The Illustrated
Weekly of India." Knowing the truth about Lucknow and the reasons for Its
fall 1s Important to many Indians. For Lucknow, as It was under the nawabs,
remains alive 1n the Indian Imagination. It Is evoked with disdain and condem-
nation at times, with nostalgia and a sort of pride at others.
Lucknow, as people Imagine 1t to have been, was a society that carried
things to extremes. If 1n social terms this meant extremes of wealth and
poverty, privilege and oppression, 1n cultural terms It meant the pursuit o
certain kinds of perfection. Lucknowl culture 1s seen as a cultivation of ex-
pertise and connoisseurship, an Insistence on pushing even minor arts to their
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furthest limits, a rejection of moderation, balance, common sense, 1n favor of
elegance and extravagance. If opium smoking and sensuality were carried to
their limits, so also were many kinds of refinement. Lucknowi taste 1n
fashion, 1n cuisine, 1n the decoration of homes and the design of gardens was
greatly admired and Imitated, as was also the famous Lucknowi courtesy, wit
Its whole range of verbal conventions designed gracefully to convey the
humility of the speaker and the loftiness of the person addressed. The arts
too were Intensively cultivated. Lucknow was famous for Its singers, dancers,
musicians, painters, cal 11 graphers, and poets.

Specialized, arti fi cal ly narrowed worlds can be peculiarly attractive to

the Imagination. The artists, athletes, etc. who devote their Uves to such
worlds are admired for their dedication. If M1r and M1rza were International
grand masters of chess, the world would reward them well for their devotion to
the game. Their vilãsitã lies 1n the fact that they are not chess players but
jãgírdãr (holders of feudal estates from the nawab) and thus, 1n theory at
least, soldiers obliged to furnish and command troops for the nawab. Ray
creates 1n the nawab himself a similar divergence between private and public
Identities. Yajid AH Shah Is 1n his own eyes first of all a poet, then a
prince of royal blood, and only afterwards the ruling monarch of a kingdom.
When a poem comes Into his head, It displaces all other business- whether he
Is judging a difficult case or facing the loss of his throne. The camera
lingers on the throne Itself, and above all on the nawab's face, during his
frequent soliloquies. We see him dilating upon his plight, exploring and
heightening his own sensations. What a splendid and romantic victim he makes
of himself, what a source of poetic Inspiration! In the film (though not the
story) his nobles are prepared for armed resistance; he need only rally them
and give them the word. He toys with the Idea, then petulantly rejects 1t and
denounces his nobles Instead. The vision of himself as a tragic figure takes
command of his Imagination; he Insists on theatrically handing over his crown
to the uncomfortable Outram. And perhaps In the back of his mind lies the
temptation of a luxurious exile, free of all duties and responsibilities,
during which he will celebrate his sufferings 1n Immortal poetry.
Mir and M1rza Insist on being chess players rather than soldiers; Yajid
AH Shah Insists on being a tragic poet rather than a responsible king. The
narrowness of their specialized Interests makes them hopelessly vulnerable,
and the British lose no time 1n seizing the advantage. The very refinement
and cultivation which are part of Lucknow1 s enduring appeal- a king who would
rather be a poet, nobles who live an ascetic Hfe dedicated only to the Intri-
cacies of chess- bring about Its downfall. Lucknow, as 1t Is Imagined, repre-
sents a vision that cannot be sustained; along with Its vices and vilasita,
Its beauty and creativity are also doomed to destruction. This vision of
Lucknow may, of course, be far removed from historical truth. It undoubte
exaggerates both virtues and vices, and oversimplifies complex realities.
Still, this Is the vision which lingers In the Indian Imagination- and It 1s
one with which both Premchand and Satyajit Ray are seeking to come to terms.

By comparison to Ray's film, however, Premchand's story Is finally almost

Invigorating. Premchand removes himself so far from Lucknowi culture and
judges 1t so harshly and Insistently that the reader never really enters
Imaginatively Into Its death throes. Lucknow 1s falling apart, and the British
pick up the pieces; there Is no hint 1n the Hindi story that the British have
acted 1n a particularly shabby or unexpected way. (Here again, the Urdu story
1s more detailed and accuses the British of premeditated treachery. 1Z) Prem-
chand has a firm grip on moral truth. Lucknow has succumbed to vilasita, 1t
1s dying, 1t 1s dead- and serves It right, too. The best use we can make of
Lucknow 1s to learn from Its fate and never be guilty of the same shameful
political apathy ourselves. Yet after all this has been said, 1t 1s Premchand,
rather than Ray, who 1s ready to offer a sort of epitaph for Lucknow: his chess
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players "were vilãsl, but they were not cowards." There was something there
after all to admire. Premchand judges, he condemns, but he can also praise.
Ray does neither. Premchand takes great pains to prepare us a "psychological
climax," while Ray takes equal pains to deny us one. Climax gives way to
anticlimax, with fifty years of the twentieth century in between.

Notes

1. Hans Raj Rahbar, Prem Chand, His Life and Work (Delhi: Atma Ram and Sons,
1957), pp. 183-84. The translation is Rahbar's. I have been unable to locate
a copy of the Urdu orignal.

2. Actually, of course, the narrator of a written story is a persona and need

not be identifiable with the author. But Premchand gives us every reason to
believe that his narrator-persona conveys his own views and feelings exactly;
for convenience I call the unnamed narrator Premchand.

3. Premchand, Mänsarovar, 8 vols. (1962; rpt. Allahabad: Saraswati Press,

1973), 3:269. This and all subsequent translations are my own, and are lit-
eral to the point of clumsiness. Mr. Shamsur Rahman Faruqi was kind enough to
give me his advice on the translations and his comments on the paper in
general. Subsequent citations will appear in the text.

4. The most famous such work, Abdul Halim Sharar's Guzishtah lakhna'ü (1913-
c. 1921), has been translated by E. S. Harcourt and Fakhir Husain as Lucknow:
The Last Phase of an Oriental Culture (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1975).

5 The Hindi is a repetition of passage 1 above. The Urdu is from "Shatranj

ki bazi," Khvãb-o-khayãl kl kahaniyah (Stories of Dreams and Visions) (Delhi:
Lajpat Rae and Sons, 1966), pp. 61-62. Subsequent citations will appear in the
text.

6. The Hindi story identifies the weapons that every-one carries as "talvar,
peèqábz, katar, etc." while the Urdu story names "katãr, khanjar, peshqabz,
and sherpanjahu (khvãb-o-khayãl, p. 77). The effect 'intended is obviously one
of being armed to the teeth!

7. Chidananda Das Gupta, ed., Satyajit Rays An Anthology of Statements on Ray

and by Ray (New Delhi: Directorate of Film Festivals, Ministry of Information
and Broadcasting, Government of India, 1981), p. 115.

8. Kathryn Hansen, "Hindi Films from Hindi Literature," Journal of South Asian
Literature, Special Issue on Indian literature and cinema, eds. Rachel
Birtha, Sheila Meehan, and Punita Bhatt (forthcoming).

9. Jan Dawson in Cinema Papers, April -June 1978, quoted in Pacific Cinem
que Programme Guide, November 1980, p. 9.
10. Das Gupta, p. 115.

11. Satyajit Ray, "My Wajid Ali Is Not Effete And Effeminate!" The Illustrated
Weekly of India, 31 December 1978, pp. 49-51. The article argues that
Vajid Ali Shah 1s portrayed in the film as a complex, contradictory character,
and that this portrayal is based on the best historical evidence.

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12. The Urdu version contains two sentences which do not appear 1n the Hindi
one: "The Company wanted to swallow up the kingdom through the disease of debt.
It played that same moneylenders' trick through which today all the weak na-
tions are being subjugated" [Khvãb-o-kkayãl3 p. 71).

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