Panch Parmeshwar

Jumman Shaikh and Algu Chaudhari had been friends since they were boys. They had studied together, worked side by side, and trusted each other so completely that when one went on a journey, he left his home in the other's care.

People in the village used to say that their friendship stood on the meeting of hearts, not on the meeting of opinions. Jumman was a Muslim and Algu a Hindu, and they ate differently and prayed differently. It made no difference at all.

The old aunt

Jumman had an elderly aunt, a widow, who owned a small piece of land. She had no children, and Jumman had long been kind to her. At last he persuaded her to sign the land over to him. In return, he promised, she would be cared for at home for the rest of her life.

As long as the papers were not signed, the old woman was treated like a queen. There were sweets on her plate and soft words in her ears.

But once the deed was registered, everything changed. Jumman's wife, Kariman, began to serve her food with sharp words. The old aunt felt, every day, that she was a burden in her own house.

One day she told Jumman that she could not live like this. She asked him to give her a small monthly sum, so that she could cook for herself and live on her own.

Jumman refused. The land was his now, he said. What could she do about it?

The panchayat

The old woman could do one thing. She called a panchayat, the village council where respected people sit together to settle a dispute. For days she went from house to house, leaning on her stick, telling her story.

She came, too, to Algu.

Algu was uncomfortable. He did not want to sit in judgement on his closest friend. But the old woman looked at him and asked him a question: would he stay silent about what was right, just because he was afraid of spoiling a friendship?

Algu had no answer.

On the evening of the panchayat, the villagers gathered under an old tree. The aunt was asked to choose the head of the council, the sarpanch. She chose Algu.

Jumman was secretly delighted. Algu was his oldest friend. Surely the case was already won.

Algu's judgement

But when Algu sat down in the seat of the sarpanch, something changed in him. He questioned Jumman carefully and fairly, as if he did not know him at all.

At last he gave his decision. Jumman had taken the land on a promise. Either he must pay his aunt a monthly sum to live on, or the gift of the land would be cancelled.

The villagers agreed it was just. Jumman went home stunned.

From that day, he did not speak to Algu. A friendship that had seemed as strong as a great tree had been cut down in an evening. And Jumman began to wait for a chance to get even.

The ox

Some time later, Algu bought a fine pair of oxen at a fair. Within a few months, one of them died. Algu could not plough with a single ox, so he sold the other to a trader in the village, Samjhu Sahu, on credit. Sahu promised to pay within a month.

Sahu worked the ox hard. He took it out with his cart day after day, to market and back, and hardly gave it food or rest. One evening on the road home, the exhausted animal fell down and died.

When Algu came asking for his money, Sahu refused to pay. Your ox was sickly, he said, and it has cost me dearly. Why should I pay for a dead animal?

The quarrel grew loud and bitter, and once again the village called a panchayat.

The seat of judgement

This time, when the council chose its sarpanch, the choice fell on Jumman.

Algu's heart sank. Of all the people in the village, the one man who had every reason to want him to lose was now his judge. Sahu, for his part, was openly pleased.

Jumman took his seat. And as he sat there, with the whole village watching, he felt the same thing that Algu had felt years before. In this seat, he understood, he was no longer anyone's friend or anyone's enemy. He was there to speak the truth, and nothing else.

He listened to both sides. Then he gave his judgement. The ox had been healthy when Sahu bought it. It had died because he had overworked it. Sahu must pay Algu the full price.

One soul again

The village cheered. Algu sat very still, and then he got up and went to Jumman. Jumman embraced him, and both men were in tears.

Jumman said that only now did he understand what Algu had done all those years ago. When a person sits in the seat of judgement, he said, it is as if God speaks through him. That is why the old saying calls the panch Parmeshwar: the council is the voice of God.

From that day, the two friends were together again, and their friendship was deeper than it had ever been.

About this story

Premchand (1880–1936) is one of the greatest writers of Hindi and Urdu fiction, and is especially loved for his stories of village India. "Panch Parmeshwar" was published in 1916 and is still read in schools across India. This version is our own shortened, simplified English retelling of the Hindi original.