Chapter 4

An ancient beggar used to come to the neighborhood now and then to seek alms, and Lalita took great pity on him, giving him a rupee whenever he appeared. Upon receiving the coin, he would shower her with extraordinary and improbable blessings—blessings she took a peculiar delight in hearing. He was fond of claiming that in a former life Lalita had been his own mother, and that the moment he set eyes on her in this birth, he had recognized her. That old "son" of hers had arrived at the doorway early this morning, calling out in a resounding voice, "Where are you, my mother-dearest?"

At her child's summons, Lalita found herself in something of a dilemma today. Shekhar was inside his room; how could she possibly go to fetch a rupee now? Glancing this way and that, she went up to her aunt. Her aunt, having just had an altercation with the maidservant, had sat down to cook with an aggrieved expression. Unable to bring herself to ask her for anything, Lalita turned back and peeped out, only to find that the beggar had leaned his stick against the doorpost and settled himself down quite comfortably. Never before had Lalita turned him away disappointed, and today she could not bear to send him back empty-handed.

The beggar called out once more.

Annakali came running with the news: "Sejdi, that son of yours has arrived!"

Lalita said, "Kali, do me a favor, dear. My hands are full—run over for just a second and get a rupee from Shekhar-da."

Kali ran off, and a moment later came running back, placing a rupee in Lalita’s hand. "Here, take this."

Lalita asked, "What did Shekhar-da say?"

"Nothing. He told me to take a rupee from his chapkan pocket, so I took it and brought it."

"He didn't say anything else?"

"No, nothing at all," said Annakali, shaking her head as she trotted off to play.

Lalita dismissed the beggar; but she could not linger as on other days to listen to his grand, effusive blessings—she simply had no heart for it.

For the past few days their daily gatherings had been in full swing. But this afternoon Lalita did not go; she lay in bed, pleading a headache. Today, in truth, her heart was heavy indeed. In the evening she called Kali to her side and asked, "Kali, don't you go to Shekhar-da's room anymore to get your lessons checked?"

Kali nodded. "Why, yes, I do."

"Doesn't Shekhar-da ask about me?"

"No. Oh wait, he did day before yesterday—he asked if you play cards in the afternoon."

Lalita asked anxiously, "And what did you say?"

Kali replied, "I told him you go to Charu-didi's house in the afternoon to play cards."

"Shekhar-da asked, 'Who plays?' I said, 'You and Soi-ma, Charu-didi and her maternal uncle.' Say, Sejdi, do you play better, or does Charu-didi's uncle play better? Soi-ma says you play better, doesn't she?"

Lalita gave no answer to her question; suddenly seized by intense annoyance, she snapped, "Why did you have to go babbling all that? You must stick your nose into everything! I'm never giving you a thing again!" And she stormed away in anger.

Kali was left bewildered. She could not comprehend in the least the reason for this sudden change of mood.

For two days now, Manorama's card games had come to a halt—Lalita had not been coming. Ever since he first saw her, Girindra had been drawn to her, a fact Manorama had suspected from the beginning, and today her suspicion grew firm.

Over these two days Girin had grown curiously eager and preoccupied. He did not go out for his evening walks; he wandered restlessly from room to room in the house at all hours. Coming inside this afternoon, he asked, "Didi, won't there be a game today either?"

Manorama said, "How can there be, Girin? Where are the players? If you like, the three of us can play."

Girin said spiritlessly, "What kind of game can three play, Didi? Why don't you send someone to call Lalita from next door?"

"She won't come."

Girin asked glumly, "Why won't she come? Have they forbidden her at home, do you think?"

Manorama shook her head. "No, her uncle and aunt aren't that sort of people—she isn't coming of her own accord."

Girin's face brightened suddenly. "In that case, if you were to go over yourself just once today, she would surely come"—no sooner had the words slipped out than he felt deeply abashed at his own eagerness.

Manorama burst into laughter. "Very well, I shall go then," she said, and went off. A short while later she brought Lalita back with her, and they sat down to cards.

Having missed two days, the game quickly warmed up. Lalita and her partner were winning.

About two hours later, Kali suddenly appeared and stood at the doorway. "Sejdi, Shekhar-da is calling you—hurry!"

Lalita’s face went pale. Halting her deal, she asked, "Hasn't Shekhar-da gone to the office?"

"I don't know, he's come back," she said, nodding her head as she departed.

Lalita put down her cards, looked at Manorama's face, and said hesitantly, "I must go, Soi-ma."

Manorama caught her hand and said, "What's the hurry, child? Stay for just two more hands."

Lalita stood up in haste and said, "No, Soi-ma, he will be terribly angry then," and hurried away.

Girin asked, "And who is this Shekhar-dada, Didi?"

Manorama said, "Why, that big house with the grand gateway right opposite us."

Girin nodded. "Ah—that house. Nabin-babu is their relative, I suppose?"

Manorama looked at her daughter's face and smiled slightly. "Relative indeed! The old man is scheming to usurp even the tiny homestead those poor people own!"

Girin looked on in astonishment.

Manorama then began to narrate how, last year, for want of money, Gurucharan-babu's second daughter could not be married off, until Nabin Roy lent him money at exorbitant interest and took a mortgage on the house. That debt would never be repaid, and in the end Nabin Roy would seize the house.

Having recounted it all, Manorama added her own commentary: "The old man’s heart is set on razing Gurucharan-babu’s dilapidated house and building a grand mansion there for his younger son, Shekhar—a separate house for each of his two sons. Not a bad plan at all."

Hearing this history pained Girin deeply. He asked, "Tell me, Didi, Gurucharan-babu has other daughters, doesn't he? How will he ever marry them off?"

Manorama said, "He has his own, of course, and besides them, Lalita. She has no father or mother—the whole burden rests on that poor man's shoulders. She has grown into a young woman now; if she isn't married off within this year, it will be disastrous. In their caste community there is no one to lend a hand, though everyone is ready to outcast them—we are far better off, Girin."

Girin remained silent. She went on, "Only the other day, speaking of Lalita, her aunt broke into tears before me—there is no telling what will happen. Gurucharan-babu can hardly swallow a morsel of food for worrying about her. Tell me, Girin, don't you have any friends in Monghyr who would marry a girl simply for her own sake, without a dowry? It is hard to find a girl like her."

Girin gave a mournful, gentle smile and said, "Where am I to find such friends, Didi? But I can help with money."

Girin's father had left behind considerable wealth and property earned from his medical practice, of all of which Girin was now the master.

Manorama said, "Money? You would lend them money?"

"Why call it a loan, Didi? If he wishes, he may repay it; if not, he need not."

Manorama was astonished. "What benefit is there for you in giving your money? They are neither our relatives nor of our caste—who gives money to strangers like that?"

Girin looked into his sister's face and smiled, then said, "What if they are not of our caste, aren't they Bengalis? He is in desperate need, and I have plenty. Why don't you talk to him once, Didi? If he agrees to accept, I can give it. Lalita is no relation of theirs, nor of ours—if need be, I shall bear the entire expense of her marriage myself."

Manorama was not particularly pleased to hear this. Though it meant neither gain nor loss to her personally, many women find it hard to look kindly upon the sight of one person giving so much money to another.

Charu, who had been listening quietly all this while, leaped up in great delight and exclaimed, "Do give it then, Uncle! I'm off to tell Soi-ma!"

Her mother scolded her, "Hush, Charu! You're a child—keep out of such matters. If it is to be spoken of, I shall speak of it myself."

Girin said, "Do speak to him then, Didi. Only day before yesterday I happened to chat with Gurucharan-babu for a moment while standing out in the street. From his conversation he struck me as a very simple, honest man. What do you say?"

Manorama said, "I say the same, and so does everyone else. Husband and wife are both exceedingly simple-hearted folk. That is precisely why one feels so sorry for them, Girin—a man like that may well end up homeless, turned out of his house. Didn't you see the proof just now? The moment she heard Shekhar-babu was calling, how Lalita jumped up and ran! It is as though the whole household has sold itself to them. Yet no matter how much they flatter him, now that they have fallen into Nabin Roy's hands, no one holds out hope that they will escape."

Girin asked, "So you will speak to him then, Didi?"

"Very well, I shall ask. If you can do some good with your money, well and good." Saying this, she smiled faintly and added, "Tell me, Girin, why are you so keen on this?"

"What keenness, Didi? One must help one another in times of distress," he said, and departed with a slightly blushing face. But no sooner had he stepped outside the door than he returned and sat down again.

His sister asked, "Why, back already?"

Girin said with a smile, "All that lamenting you did, Didi—perhaps it isn't entirely true."

Manorama said in surprise, "Why?"

Girin continued, "The way their Lalita spends money doesn't look like a poor person's ways at all, Didi. The other day when we went to see a play, she didn't go herself, yet she sent ten rupees with her sister. Ask Charu how she spends—her personal expenses alone can hardly be less than twenty to twenty-five rupees a month."

Manorama did not believe it.

Charu said, "It's true, Ma. All that is Shekhar-babu's money. Not just now—ever since she was a child she opens Shekhar-da's cabinet and takes money out, and no one says a word."

Manorama looked at her daughter and asked suspiciously, "She takes money with Shekhar-babu's knowledge?"

Charu nodded. "Yes, she unlocks it right in front of him and takes it. Who gave all that money for Annakali's doll's wedding last month? It was all given by Soi."

Manorama said thoughtfully, "Who knows? But this much is true, the old man's sons aren't heartless misers like him—they take after their mother, so they have some kindness and piety in them. Besides, Lalita is said to be a very sweet girl; she has been around them since childhood, calls him 'brother', so everyone has an affection for her. Tell me, Charu, you go over there often—is their Shekhar really getting married this coming month of Magh? I hear the old man stands to gain a huge dowry."

Charu said, "Yes, Ma, it's set for this month of Magh—everything is finalized."