Complete English Translation: Anisht Shanka (Premonition of Evil)
A moonlit night, the pleasant caress of a cool breeze, an enchanting garden.
Kunwar Amarnath, reclining upon his spacious terrace, said tenderly to Manorama: "Do not be anxious, my dear. I shall return very soon."
Manorama looked toward him with pleading, sorrowful eyes and whispered: "Why do you not take me along with you?"
Amarnath replied: "You will suffer terrible hardships there. I will be in one place today and another tomorrow, roaming about the entire day without rest. It is a mountainous, rugged country where, apart from dense jungles and ravines, there is no sign of human habitation for miles. Above all, there is the constant peril of wild beasts. You will never be able to endure such privations."
Manorama said: "You, too, are not accustomed to such hardships."
Amarnath smiled: "I am a man. When necessity demands, I can confront any hardship."
Manorama answered with quiet pride: "I, too, am a woman. When necessity demands, I can leap into roaring fire! The fragility of women is merely a poetic invention of men. Women may lack muscular strength, but they possess that fortitude and courage upon which the darkest terrors of fate cannot make the slightest impression."
Amarnath looked upon Manorama with eyes full of reverence and said: "I admit the truth of what you say. Yet that conception which we have perceived as reality for ages cannot be erased in a single instant. I could never bear to see you suffer; your pain would cause me unbearable grief. Look at the splendor of this moonlight tonight!"
Manorama said: "Do not divert me with sweet words. I shall not be obstinate, but my life here will become an unbearable torment. The condition of my heart is strange. When you are not before my eyes, all manner of dark apprehensions torment my mind. If you are slightly delayed, I fear you have been hurt; when you go hunting, I tremble lest the horse turn vicious. The dread of evil (anisht-shanka) haunts me every waking hour."
Amarnath laughed: "Yet I am merely a devotee of comfort and pleasure. In showering such boundless devotion upon me, you do grave injustice to yourself."
Manorama cast a gentle, knowing glance toward Amarnath that said silently: I understand you far better than you know yourself.
A devastating famine raged through Bundelkhand.
People were peeling the bitter bark from trees to satisfy their gnawing bellies. The excruciating pangs of hunger had wiped away all distinction between what was edible and what was forbidden. To speak of cattle was needless; even human children were being sold for mere coppers!
Christian missionaries found their golden harvest; crowds of starving infants were driven daily into their orphanages like flocks of sheep. A mother's sacred maternal love was sacrificed before a single fistful of grain.
Kunwar Amarnath was the administrator of the Kashi Seva Samiti relief society. When he read these bloodcurdling accounts in the newspapers, his soul writhed in agony. Assembling several energetic young men of the society, he departed immediately for Bundelkhand. He gave Manorama a solemn promise that he would write a letter every single day and return home as swiftly as possible.
For the first week, he faithfully kept his word. But gradually, delays began to creep into the correspondence. The relief camps were situated in remote areas, many miles distant from the nearest post office. To arrange the daily dispatch of letters from such wilderness was an impossible task.
Manorama became overwhelmed by the agony of separation. She wandered through the house in an unsettled, melancholic state—sometimes pacing down to the courtyard, sometimes climbing to the terrace, and sometimes sitting lost in the garden. Until the postman arrived with a letter, her mind remained in a state of feverish agitation; the moment a letter was delivered, it was like life-giving rain falling upon parched paddy fields.
But when letters began to be delayed by days together, her longing, anxious heart lost all patience. Again and again she reproached herself: Why did I foolishly yield to his persuasion? I should have insisted on accompanying him!
She had once been passionately fond of reading, but now she could not bear even to glance at a book. She felt a profound aversion toward every object of amusement.
In this manner, a whole month slipped away.
One night, she had a terrifying dream. She saw Amarnath standing outside the front door, bareheaded and barefoot, weeping bitter tears!
She woke up with a start, trembling with terror. In a state of frenzy, she rushed down to the door. Seeing the desolate silence of the midnight street, her senses returned.
That very moment, she roused the estate accountant (munim) and dispatched an urgent telegram to Kunwar Sahib.
The entire following day passed, but no reply arrived. A second night passed, yet there was no sign of a response. Manorama lay in her room in a semi-conscious swoon, refusing food and water. Whoever entered the room, she asked with wild eyes: "Has the reply come?" Whenever a voice sounded at the gate, she would rush out, gasping: "Has any answer arrived?"
A multitude of dark apprehensions swarmed in her mind. She questioned the maidservants about the meaning of the dream. She scoured through several ancient treatises on the causes and interpretation of dreams, but no comfort could be found.
To console her, the maids would say: "Kunwar Ji is safe and sound, Bahu-ji. If one sees someone barefoot in a dream, it signifies that he is riding high upon horseback! There is no cause for alarm."
Yet these platitudes brought no solace to Rama. Her mind remained obsessed with the single thought of a telegram, until four agonizing days had passed.
The arrival of an itinerant juggler in a neighborhood is an event of momentous excitement for children; the rattling sound of his little pellet-drum holds greater allure than the vendor's call for sweetmeats.
In the very same manner, the appearance of an astrologer in an Indian alleyway is a matter of sensational importance. In an instant, the news flies from house to house. A mother-in-law arrives dragging her young daughter-in-law; a sorrowing mother brings forward her unmarried or ill-fated daughter. The astrologer begins showering predictions of joy and sorrow according to the temperament of his clients. In his prophecies lies a profound, impenetrable mystery; his construction of fate is far more complex and elusive than the lines of the palm itself.
It is possible that modern English education has diminished the public reverence for the science of astrology, but the majesty of the astrologer himself has not diminished by a fraction. Whether one believes his words or not, everyone burns to hear him speak! In every syllable he utters lies the potent power to arouse both hope and terror; especially his announcements of ill-fortune fall upon human hearts like thunderbolts—lethal and scorching.
It was the fifth day since the telegram had been dispatched when a wandering astrologer arrived at Kunwar Sahib's outer gate. Immediately, the women of the neighborhood clustered around him. The astrologer began examining palms and calculating horoscopes, making some weep and others smile.
News of his arrival reached Manorama. She summoned him inside at once and inquired about the meaning of her dream.
The astrologer glanced around the opulent courtyard, flipped through leaf after leaf of his almanac, counted repeatedly on his fingers, but could not decide what answer he ought to give.
He asked cautiously: "Did the Sarkar herself behold this dream?"
Manorama hesitated: "No, a dear friend of mine saw it. I say it portends grave evil; she insists it is auspicious. What is your interpretation?"
The astrologer looked about shiftily. He was entirely ignorant of Amarnath's expedition to Bundelkhand, nor had he been granted sufficient time before entering the mansion to gather that background information which, combined with shrewd conjecture, passes among the common folk under the grand name of astrology. The question posed to him offered no easy clue.
Despairing of any clever evasion, he concluded that his own best interest lay in agreeing with Manorama's gloomy inclination.
He announced solemnly: "What the Sarkar says is absolute truth. This dream is an omen of terrible evil."
Manorama began to tremble like the string of a taut sitar.
Unfolding the nature of that calamity, the astrologer added gravely: "A catastrophic disaster is about to fall upon her husband! His household will be utterly destroyed, and he will wander from land to land, an outcast and a beggar!"
Manorama leaned against the wall for support, gasped: "O God, protect me!" and collapsed senseless onto the stone floor.
The astrologer took fright. He realized he had made a grave miscalculation.
He immediately attempted to offer soothing words: "Do not be alarmed, Bahu-ji! I possess the power to avert this disaster! Fetch me a black goat, a few cloves, and a skein of raw thread. When good tidings arrive from Kunwar Ji, you may bestow upon me whatever remuneration you please. The task is formidable, yet by the grace of the Almighty, it is not incurable! Look, Bahu-ji, great British officers have bestowed certificates upon me! Only recently, the Deputy Sahib's daughter was gravely ill and the English doctors had given up all hope; I provided an amulet, and the girl opened her eyes while sitting up! Just yesterday, a bag of cash vanished from Seth Chandulal's treasury and no clue could be found; I cast a divination, and captured the thief within minutes—it was the work of his own accountant, and the bag was recovered untouched!"
While the astrologer sang the praises of his miraculous powers, Manorama lay unconscious.
Suddenly, she sat upright.
Calling the accountant immediately, she commanded in a firm, resolute voice: "Prepare for a journey at once! I shall depart for Bundelkhand by the evening train!"
Reaching the railway station, Manorama sent an urgent wire to Amarnath: "I am coming." His final letter had mentioned that he was operating around Kabrai; accordingly, she purchased a ticket for Kabrai.
She had spent several nights without sleep. The moment she sat down inside the railway carriage, sleep overpowered her weary senses. And the instant sleep arrived, her obsessive apprehension of evil (anisht-shanka) assumed the shape of a terrifying nightmare!
She saw an unfathomable, tempestuous ocean stretching before her. Upon the dark waters, a battered, shattered boat was being tossed violently by raging waves. It had neither a helmsman, nor a sail, nor oars. The mountainous swells threw it high into the clouds, then plunged it into watery abysses.
Suddenly, a human figure appeared upon the deck.
It was Amarnath—bareheaded, barefoot, tears streaming from his eyes!
Manorama shuddered in mortal terror. It seemed as though the boat were about to sink at any second.
She let out a piercing scream and woke up!
Her body was drenched in cold sweat; her heart hammered furiously against her ribs. She sat up instantly, washed her face with cold water, and resolved firmly: I shall not sleep again! Alas! What a horrifying sight! Heavenly Father, You alone are my refuge now! Protect him!
She looked out through the carriage window. The stars were racing across the sky. She glanced at her watch; it was midnight. She was astonished: Did I sleep so long? It felt as though not even a brief nap had been completed!
She picked up a book and began reading with intense concentration.
Soon, the train steamed into Prayag (Allahabad), where she had to change trains. Boarding the connecting train, she opened the book once more and began reading aloud to keep herself awake.
Yet eyes that have been starved of sleep for days refuse to obey the human will. As she sat, heavy nods overpowered her; her eyelids snapped shut, and another terrifying vision materialized before her eyes!
She saw a mountain peak soaring into the clouds. The trees upon its heights appeared tiny like little shrubs. Dark, menacing clouds enveloped the sky; lightning cracked with such deafening roars that the eardrums felt shattered, striking now here, now there.
Upon the topmost peak sat a bareheaded man. The flow of tears from his eyes was clearly visible.
Manorama's heart leaped in horror—it was Amarnath!
He was trying frantically to descend from the crag, but no path could be found. His face was ghastly pale with terror.
Suddenly, a catastrophic roar of thunder shook the earth; a blinding sheet of lightning flashed; and Amarnath vanished into thin air!
Manorama screamed aloud and woke up!
Her heart leaped within her chest; her brain spun with dizziness. The moment she woke, tears gushed from her eyes. She stood up in the carriage, clasped her hands, and prayed fervently to the Almighty:
"O God! Such terrifying dreams are haunting me; who knows what misery has befallen him! You are the protector of the helpless; shower mercy upon me! I desire neither wealth nor prosperity; I shall live happily in a mud hut. I pray only for his well-being. Grant me this single prayer!"
She sat down in her seat once more. The enchanting glow of dawn and the cool, refreshing morning breeze soothed her feverish senses. She felt relieved: Somehow the dark night has passed; now sleep will not return.
Picturesque scenes of the countryside began gliding past the windows—flocks of sheep grazing upon hillside pastures, herds of deer bounding through valleys, and ponds undulating with blooming lotus blossoms. In a state of half-wakeful reverie, Manorama gazed upon these pastoral scenes.
Yet, before long, who knows when her unfortunate eyes flickered and closed once more!
She saw Amarnath mounted upon a horse, riding across a narrow bridge. Beneath the bridge roared a swollen, turbulent river. The bridge was extremely narrow; the horse repeatedly shied, bucked, and slipped toward the edge.
Manorama's limbs turned numb with dread. She began screaming at the top of her lungs: "Dismount from the horse! Dismount from the horse this instant!"
Crying this out, she lunged frantically toward him—and her eyes flew open!
The express train was hurtling past a railway platform with a roaring rush of wind!
There, standing upon the platform, was Amarnath—bareheaded and barefoot!
The terrifying nightmare was still swirling before Manorama's bewildered eyes. Seeing Kunwar Amarnath standing there, the nightmare possessed her senses completely—she imagined he had fallen from his horse and was slipping into the roaring abyss below!
She stretched out her arms frantically to catch him; and when she could not reach him, in that somnambulistic frenzy, she pushed open the carriage door and stepped straight out of the speeding train, her arms outstretched toward Kunwar Sahib!
In that split second, shock tore through her. It felt as though someone had snatched her from the heavens and hurled her onto the stone earth; a tremendous blow shattered her body, and all consciousness went black.
It was Kabrai station.
Amarnath had received her telegram and had rushed to the platform to receive her. But this was a fast mail train that did not halt at Kabrai!
Seeing Manorama falling from the speeding carriage with outstretched arms, he screamed in agony and lunged forward to catch her—but the decree of destiny had already been fulfilled.
Manorama had laid down her life upon the altar of love.
On the third day after this tragedy, Kunwar Amarnath returned home—bareheaded, barefoot, with a shattered heart.
Manorama's first dream had come true.
In that love-bereft, desolate mansion, who was there left to live?
Amarnath donated his entire ancestral property to the Kashi Seva Samiti relief society; and today, bareheaded, barefoot, and completely detached from the world, he wanders through lands and wildernesses.
The astrologer's ominous prophecy, too, had been fulfilled to the very letter.
Summary of Anisht Shanka
'Anisht Shanka' (Premonition of Evil) is a poignant psychological tragedy by Munshi Premchand exploring the destructive power of excessive anxiety, prophetic nightmares, and charlatan astrology.
The story centers on Manorama and her husband, Kunwar Amarnath, administrator of the Kashi Seva Samiti. When a catastrophic famine hits Bundelkhand, Amarnath travels with young volunteers to deliver relief. Despite Manorama’s passionate plea to join him, Amarnath insists she remain behind in comfort, promising daily letters. Initially, letters arrive regularly, but as Amarnath journeys deeper into remote jungles, correspondence ceases.
Manorama's separation turns into obsessive anxiety (anisht-shanka). After a nightmare in which Amarnath stands barefoot and weeping at their gate, she sends a telegram that goes unanswered for days. Terrified, she consults an itinerant street astrologer, who falsely confirms her worst fears by predicting the total ruin of her husband and household. Panic-stricken, Manorama boards an express train to Bundelkhand.
Throughout the sleepless rail journey, Manorama suffers from three recurring, horrific nightmares: Amarnath in a sinking rowboat, Amarnath on a mountain peak struck by lightning, and Amarnath on a terrified horse crossing a narrow bridge over a roaring river. When the mail train hurtles through Kabrai station without stopping, she catches sight of Amarnath standing on the platform. Confusing nightmare with reality and believing him to be falling into the abyss, Manorama flings open the door and steps out of the moving train, dying instantly. Brokenhearted, Amarnath donates his vast wealth to charity and wanders the world as an ascetic, fulfilling both Manorama's nightmare and the astrologer's dark prophecy.
Publication History
'Anisht Shanka' was written by Munshi Premchand in 1919 during a period marked by devastating famines and post-World War epidemics across northern India. It was first published in contemporary Hindi literary periodicals before being collected in Mansarovar (Vol. 8).
This unabridged English translation was published in 2026 by MunshiPremchand.com as part of the MunshiPremchand.com English Translation Series.
Themes & Critical Significance
- The Psychology of Anxious Foreboding: Premchand explores how deep affection can warp into obsessive dread (anisht-shanka). Manorama's fear of loss paralyzes her rational faculties, proving that excessive anxiety can be more lethal than external physical danger.
- The Self-Fulfilling Nature of Superstition: The astrologer's irresponsible, opportunistic prophecy pushes Manorama into a frantic state that causes her fatal accident. Premchand condemns fraudulent astrology as a dangerous social parasite that exploits human vulnerability.
- The Blurring of Dream and Reality: The story masterfully depicts the psychological consequences of sleep deprivation and trauma. In the tragic climax, Manorama's waking vision merges seamlessly with her nightmare, driving her to a fatal leap to save a husband who was in no physical danger.
- Famine, Social Relief, and Ascetic Renunciation: The backdrop of the Bundelkhand famine provides a sharp contrast between Amarnath’s public philanthropy and private tragedy, culminating in his complete renunciation of worldly wealth after the loss of his beloved.