Chapter 9

That night, after wandering the streets for a long time like one dazed, Shekhar returned home, asking himself how that little slip of a girl, Lalita, had learned to speak like this. How could she have talked back to his face with such shameless audacity?

Today, he had been truly astonished and incensed by Lalita’s behavior. Yet, had he considered the matter calmly, he would have realized that his anger was directed not at Lalita, but entirely at himself.

During these past few months away from Lalita, living abroad, he had confined himself to his own imagination, calculating only imaginary joys and sorrows, profits and losses. But lying in bed tonight, he reflected again and again on how deeply Lalita was bound to his life, how inextricably woven into his future, and how difficult, how miserable it would be to live in her absence. Because Lalita had been part of their household since childhood, he had never stepped back to view her in the context of her own family—among her parents, brothers, and sisters—nor had it ever crossed his mind to do so. That Lalita might be beyond his reach, that his parents might withhold their consent to the marriage, that she might end up belonging to someone else—his anxieties had always flowed along these lines. It was for this reason that, on the night before leaving for foreign lands, he had forcibly placed the garland around her neck, throwing up a dam right at the edge of the impending breach.

While abroad, upon hearing the news of Gurucharan’s change of faith, he had been filled with anxiety day and night, haunted by the single thought of losing Lalita. Happy or sorrowful, this was the familiar current of his thoughts; but today, Lalita’s explicit words had slammed that door shut, sending the tide of his reflections rushing in precisely the opposite direction. Before, his worry had been for fear of not gaining her; now, his dread was for fear of being unable to let her go.

The marriage proposal from Shyambazar had fallen through. They too had backed out in the end, reluctant to pay so large a sum, and the girl had not appealed to Shekhar’s mother either. Shekhar had thus obtained temporary relief from that burden, yet Nabin Roy had not forgotten the matter of ten or twenty thousand rupees, nor had he remained idle in that regard.

Shekhar wondered what was to be done. On that night, he had not anticipated that what he did would turn out to be so grave a matter, or that Lalita would believe with such unshakeable conviction that they were truly married and that, by all sacred duty, it could never be undone. Although the words had passed his own lips—“What is done is done; now neither you can undo it, nor can I”—at that moment he had lacked the capacity, and perhaps even the time, to weigh the full import of everything as he was doing tonight.

Back then, the moon had risen high, washing the world in moonlight; the garland hung around her neck; there was the enchantment of feeling his beloved’s beating heart against his own chest for the first time, and the intense intoxication of drinking what lovers call the nectar of the lips. In those moments, self-interest and worldly calculations had not crossed his mind; the formidable image of his avaricious father had not loomed before his eyes. He had reasoned that since his mother was fond of Lalita, persuading her would not be difficult, and if his elder brother could somehow soften their father, the marriage might after all come to pass. Besides, Gurucharan had not yet severed himself from them in this manner, blocking the path of their hopes with a wall of stone. But now, Destiny itself seemed to have turned its face away.

In truth, there was little left for Shekhar to ponder. He knew with certainty that winning his father’s consent was out of the question, and even convincing his mother was now impossible. There was simply no way to even bring up the matter anymore.

Shekhar let out a long sigh and muttered once more under his breath, “What is to be done?” He knew Lalita well—he had raised her with his own hands—and he knew that once she accepted something as her sacred duty, she would never abandon it under any circumstances. She believed herself to be Shekhar’s wedded wife; that was why, in the darkness of this evening, she could step up to his chest without hesitation and raise her face so close to his.

Talks of her marriage to Girin had already begun—yet no one would ever be able to gain her consent. Nor would she remain silent any longer. She would now reveal everything. Shekhar’s face grew hot. And why wouldn’t she? He had not stopped at merely exchanging garlands; he had pulled her to his chest and kissed her lips. Lalita had not resisted—she had not resisted because she believed there was no sin in it, because she believed it was her right. Now, how could he answer for his conduct, and to whom?

That he could not marry Lalita against his parents' wishes was certain; but once the reason for Lalita’s refusal to marry Girin came to light, how would he ever show his face, at home or to the world?