Chapter 5

Gurucharan was the sort of man with whom anyone, regardless of age, could talk without the slightest reserve. Within just a few days of acquaintance, a lasting friendship had blossomed between him and Girin. Lacking the least bit of firmness or resolve in his temperament, Gurucharan enjoyed debating as much as he accepted defeat in argument—without harboring the slightest resentment.

He had invited Girin over for tea after dusk. His workday at the office ended only as daylight faded. Washing his hands and face, he would call out, “Lalita, my child, is the tea ready? Kali, go on, run along and bring your Girin-mama over.” And then, over tea, their discussions and debates would get underway.

On certain days, Lalita would sit quietly out of sight behind her uncle and listen. On those occasions, Girin’s arguments would stream forth in full flood. The debate almost invariably turned against modern society—society’s callousness, its unreasoned oppression, its cruelties—all of which were incontrovertible truths.

Indeed, there was truly nothing to be said in defense of such a society, and to Gurucharan’s harassed, troubled heart, Girin’s words hit home with profound resonance. In the end, he would shake his head and say, “How true, Girin. Who wouldn’t wish to marry off his daughters into good households in due time? But how can I manage it? Society decrees, ‘Marry them off—the girl is coming of age,’ yet it makes no provision to help one do so. Take my own case, Girin—even this little house is mortgaged; in a couple of days I’ll have to take my children by the hand and stand out on the street. Society won’t step forward then and say, ‘Come, take shelter in my house.’ What do you say, my friend?”

Girin would perhaps remain silent, while Gurucharan himself would continue, “It is the absolute truth. Better to be cast out of such a society altogether. Whether one gets a meal or not, at least one can live in peace. A society that does not feel a poor man’s sorrow, that gives no courage in times of distress, but only glares menacingly and grips one by the throat—that society is not mine, nor is it for poor folk like me. It exists for the rich. Well, let them keep it; we have no use for it.” Saying this, Gurucharan would fall abruptly silent.

Lalita did not merely listen to these arguments attentively; lying in bed at night before sleep claimed her, she would turn them over in her mind and weigh them carefully. Every single word was imprinting itself deeply upon her heart. She would think to herself, Girin-babu’s words are exceedingly just and reasonable.

She loved her uncle dearly, and whatever Girin said in defense of him seemed to her an infallible truth. Her gentle, harmless uncle was being driven to distraction for her sake, renouncing food and water—suffering such immense hardship simply for having given her shelter! But why?

Why should her uncle lose caste? If she were married off today and returned tomorrow as a widow, his caste would not be lost. Yet where was the difference? Echoing Girin’s arguments from the depths of her burdened heart, she would scrutinize every point again and again until she drifted off to sleep.

For anyone who spoke on her uncle’s behalf and understood his suffering, Lalita had no choice but to feel deep reverence and complete agreement. She began to hold Girin in sincere respect. By degrees, like Gurucharan, she too began to look forward to the evening hour of tea.

Previously, Girin used to address Lalita with the formal ‘aapni’. Gurucharan had gently forbidden it, saying, “Why use ‘aapni’ with her, Girin? Address her as ‘tumi’.” From then on, he had begun calling her ‘tumi’.

One day, Girin had asked, “Do you not drink tea, Lalita?”

As Lalita bowed her head and shook it, Gurucharan had explained, “Her Shekhar-da has forbidden it. He does not like women drinking tea.”

Lalita could sense that Girin was not particularly pleased to hear this reason.

Today was Saturday. The evening gathering broke up much later than usual.

Tea was over, but Gurucharan could not bring his usual enthusiasm to the discussion today; every now and then, he seemed to fall into a fit of absent-mindedness.

Girin noticed it easily enough and asked, “Are you not feeling quite well today, sir?”

Gurucharan lowered his hookah pipe from his lips and said, “Why? Oh, physically I am quite well.”

Girin said with hesitation, “Then at the office, did something—?”

“No, nothing of that sort either,” Gurucharan replied, looking at Girin’s face with a touch of surprise. This simple-hearted man did not even realize that his inner distress was showing on his face.

Lalita used to remain completely silent before, but these days she occasionally joined in with a word or two. She said, “Yes, Mama, perhaps your mind is troubled today.”

Gurucharan broke into a laugh and said, “Oh, that! Yes, child, you’ve guessed right—my mind truly isn't at ease today.”

Lalita and Girin both looked at his face, waiting.

Gurucharan said, “Nabin-da knew everything, yet he stood right out in the street and gave me a piece of his mind with some harsh words. And why blame him? It’s been six months and I haven't been able to pay a single paisa of interest, to say nothing of the principal.”

Lalita understood what this was about and immediately grew anxious to hush it up. Fearing that her oblivious uncle might blurt out their embarrassing domestic humiliation before an outsider, she put in hurriedly, “Don't worry, Mama, all that can be taken care of later.”

But Gurucharan paid no heed to her intervention. Instead, smiling mournfully, he said, “How later, my child? It’s not that, Girin—this little mother of mine wants her old boy not to worry about anything. But outsiders simply won't look upon your poor uncle’s misery with compassion, Lalita.”

Girin asked, “What did Nabin-babu say today?”

Lalita did not know that Girin was already aware of all the details, so she mistook his question for unwarranted curiosity and felt extremely irritated.

Gurucharan explained openly. Nabin Rai’s wife had been suffering from indigestion for a long time, and with her condition worsening recently, the doctors had ordered a change of air. Money was required; therefore, Gurucharan had to pay up all the outstanding interest and a part of the principal at this very time.

Girin remained quiet for a moment and then said softly, “There is something I have been meaning to tell you for some time, but hesitated. If you don’t mind, may I say it today?”

Gurucharan laughed and said, “No one ever hesitates to tell me anything, Girin—what is it?”

Girin said, “I heard from Didi that Nabin-babu charges very high interest. That’s why I was thinking—I have plenty of money lying idle, serving no purpose, and he needs the funds too. Why not just settle his debt with it?”

Lalita and Gurucharan both stared at him in astonishment. Girin continued with deep embarrassment, “I have no immediate need for the money right now, so you can return it whenever it is convenient for you. They need it, so I was suggesting, if—”

Gurucharan said slowly, “You will lend the entire amount?”

Girin bowed his head and said, “Why, yes—if it helps them—”

Just as Gurucharan was about to say something in response, Annakali came running in. “Sej-didi, hurry up—Shekhar-da told you to get dressed—we have to go see a play!” And no sooner had she blurted this out than she darted off just as she had come. Seeing her eagerness, Gurucharan smiled. Lalita remained motionless.

A moment later, Annakali returned and said, “What’s this, Sej-didi, you haven’t got up? We’re all standing there waiting!”

Still, Lalita showed no sign of moving. She wanted to hear the conversation to the end, but Gurucharan looked at Kali’s face, smiled gently, and placing a hand on Lalita’s head, said, “Go then, my child, don’t delay—looks like everyone is waiting for you.”

Out of necessity, Lalita had to get up. But before leaving, she cast a deep, lingering look of gratitude upon Girin’s face as she slowly stepped out—a glance that Girindra did not fail to catch.

About ten minutes later, having changed her clothes and made ready, she stepped back into the outer room with silent footfalls under the pretext of offering betel leaf.

Girin had left. Gurucharan was lying alone with his head on a thick bolster, his eyes closed, and tears trickling down both sides of his shut eyes. Lalita understood that these were tears of joy. And because she understood, she did not disturb his quiet devotion; she withdrew as silently as she had entered.

A short while later, when she arrived in Shekhar’s room, her own eyes were glistening with brimful tears. Kali was not there; she had already gone ahead to sit in the carriage. Shekhar was standing alone in the middle of his room, evidently waiting for Lalita, and when he looked up, he noticed her eyes filled with tears.

Having not seen Lalita for eight or ten days, he had been inwardly feeling exceedingly annoyed with her. But now, forgetting his irritation, he blurted out in concern, “What’s this? Are you crying?”

Lalita lowered her head and shook it vigorously.

These past few days of complete separation had been working a change in Shekhar’s heart; stepping closer, he suddenly cupped Lalita’s face with both hands and raised it, saying, “You really are crying! Whatever happened?”

Lalita could contain herself no longer; sinking down right there, she covered her face with her aanchal and burst into tears.