Tragedy At Lamhi: Fading Legacy Of Munshi Premchand At His Birthplace

Struggle to grasp the importance of the connection between authors and readers originating from the public, rather than being dictated by the administration: Check.

Deliberately overlook the necessity of nurturing a location as the birthplace of a literary giant: Check.

Promises routinely made and broken by those in power to preserve said legacy: Check.

Dismiss the unfortunate consequences of isolating the eternal legacy of an icon from the daily hardships faced by the local population: Check.

Amidst the quietude of Lamhi village, the legacy of Dhanpat Rai Srivastava (Munshi Premchand) and his tales of human triumph and suffering are poised on the cusp of transformation. The passage of time, while relentless, has etched its mark on the very fabric of this once-vibrant haven that birthed one of India’s literary titans. In a dance of contrasts, where historical significance intertwines with urban negligence, Lamhi tells the tale of cultural heritage under siege, and the erasure of a village’s cherished connection to its literary luminary. What an Indian tragedy it is!

Premchand’s life story began in the embrace of Lamhi, a place whose contours wove themselves seamlessly into his narratives. The fields, the river, the rustic corners—all of it came alive in his prose. An authentic observer of the human condition, Premchand’s stories flowed from his deep empathy for the marginalised and his acute understanding of societal disparities. It was the soil of Lamhi that birthed these empathetic tales, entrenched in the lives of its inhabitants and echoing the struggles and dreams of the common man.

Yet, as with many tales, the trajectory of Lamhi and its connection to Premchand took an unforeseen turn. The village, once a muse, began to fade like the sepia hues of an old photograph. Its lanes, once trodden by the memorable characters of Premchand’s stories, lost their vibrancy. The old tree there, guardian of the writer’s deep contemplations, now stands frail and forgotten. And as his ancestral house sagged, its crumbling walls seemed to echo the fading memory of his existence.

Through my conversations with the Hindi poet and literary critic Vyomesh Shukla, I was introduced to the degree of change that had crept in. Like a glimmer of hope, even in the face of such erosion, a few passionate souls emerged as guardians of Premchand’s legacy. Vyomesh introduced me to  ‘Dubey ji’ of such disposition, especially in his emotional writings on the subject at hand.

To give the administration its due, festivals and workshops are organised, stories shared, and a flame continually kindled to keep the literary fire alive. However, as the tides of change continued to batter the shores of Lamhi, the younger generation drifted away, their roots loosening as urban allurements beckoned. The village, once a living embodiment of Premchand’s tales, turned into a fading backdrop, the physical echoes of his stories whispering in the wind. One only needs to stare at the lewd scratches made on the walls of buildings in the village to understand the situation.

The saga of Lamhi is a profound reminder of the intrinsic link between authors and their landscapes. The stories that Premchand penned were not created in isolation but sprouted organically from the soil of his birthplace. This delicate dance between literature and locale is a timeless narrative, mirrored in the tales of William Shakespeare and his Stratford-upon-Avon. Just as Stratford remains a testament to the enduring influence of the English Bard, Lamhi was meant to be a beacon of Premchand’s legacy.

The struggles of preserving such legacies are fraught with complexities. The custodianship of heritage is often a battle between authenticity and commercialisation. Lamhi, much like Stratford, fell prey to the clutches of excessive commercialisation and rapid urbanisation. The very essence that once nurtured Premchand’s creativity is now overshadowed by the pressures of modernity. As progress marches on, history can be a casualty, and cultural heritage can be heedlessly devoured in the name of development. And so, Lamhi finds itself at a crossroads today. The legacy of Premchand is a treasure trove of human stories, a chronicle of social awakening, and a timeless testament to the power of the written word. But the village, once the cradle of this legacy, has been reduced to a silent bys­tander, watching its own history dissolve in the face of change.

As we stand in the shadow of Lamhi’s decline, uncomfor­tably close to the poster-boy of development (read Varanasi), we are called upon to reflect on the choices we make as custodians of our collective heritage. The stories of great writers are not just confined to the pages; they are echoes of a world that once was, a world that shaped the fabric of our present. It is a call to embrace the delicate balance between modernity and tradition, progress and preservation. Just as Stratford honours Shakespeare, so too should Lamhi cherish Premchand’s legacy, not merely in name but in spirit.

Lamhi’s story, interwoven with Premchand’s narratives, should not vanish into the annals of forgotten history. This place is a reminder that the tapestry of literature is woven from the threads of culture, time and place. Vyomesh insists that Lamhi’s decline is a poignant metaphor, urging us to safeguard the connections that make literature a timeless bridge between generations. I realise that the legacy of a writer, like a village, is more than a physical entity; it is an intangible bond that transcends time, evoking emotions and igniting the human spirit.

The de-evolution of Lamhi’s decay is also a plea to remember and breathe life into the tales that once sprung from its lanes. Premchand’s legacy deserves not just reverence but action, a concerted effort to restore its connection with the village that bore witness to his emergence as a literary stalwart. There is a dire need to kindle the flames of this legacy anew, ensuring that the village and its stories endure as an eternal testament to the power of literature and the human experience.

Chandrali Mukherjee is a public relations executive. She is pursuing a doctorate in mass communication and journalism from Banaras Hindu University.