Chapter 11

Gurucharan’s broken health could not be mended even by the air and water of Monghyr. A year or so later, he laid down his heavy burden of sorrow and departed this world. Girin had truly loved him deeply, and had done everything within his power for him until his final day.

Before his death, he had taken Girin’s hand, asking him in a tear-choked voice never to become a stranger, and begging that this deep friendship might turn into a bond of close kin. He was not destined to see it come to pass with his own eyes—illness had denied him the time—yet he prayed that he might behold it from the realm beyond. Girin had then pledged himself gladly and with all his heart.

Bhuvaneshwari would occasionally hear news through the tenants living in Gurucharan’s Calcutta house; indeed, it was they who had conveyed the news of Gurucharan’s death.

After that, a grave calamity befell this household. Nabin Roy passed away suddenly.

Driven near mad with grief and sorrow, Bhuvaneshwari handed over the management of the household to her elder daughter-in-law and left for Kashi. She departed with the promise that once all the arrangements for Shekhar’s marriage were finalised the following year, she would return to perform the wedding.

The match had been settled by Nabin Roy himself, and the wedding would have taken place earlier had it not been postponed for a year on account of his death. The bride’s family could wait no longer, which was why they had come only yesterday to bestow their formal blessings. The wedding was set for this very month. Today, Shekhar was preparing to set out to fetch his mother. As he was taking things down from the wardrobe to pack his trunk, his thoughts turned after many a long day to Lalita—she used to do all of this.

More than three years had passed since they departed, and in all this time he had received no news of them whatsoever. Nor had he tried to find out; truth be told, he had harboured no such desire. Over time, a feeling of revulsion towards Lalita had taken root within him. Yet today, quite suddenly, a longing awoke in him to get word of them, somehow—to know how everyone was faring. They were bound to be doing well, of course, for he knew Girin was a man of means; even so, he wished to hear when the marriage had taken place, how she was faring with him, and all the rest.

The tenants next door were gone as well, having vacated the house two months ago. For a moment Shekhar thought of going to ask Charu’s father, for they were certain to have news of Girin. Pausing his packing for a brief space, he stood gazing absently out of the window, mulling over these thoughts, when the old family maid came to stand outside his door and said, “Chhotobabu, Kali’s mother has sent for you.”

Shekhar turned around in utter astonishment and asked, “Which Kali’s mother?”

The maid pointed with her hand towards Gurucharan’s house and said, “Our own Kali’s mother, Chhotobabu—they came back late last night.”

“I am coming,” he said, and went downstairs at once.

Daylight was fading by then. The moment he stepped into that house, a swell of heartbreaking lamentation arose. Going up to Gurucharan’s wife, who was clad in the austere white of widowhood, he sat down on the floor beside her and silently wiped his eyes with the corner of his dhoti. It was not for Gurucharan alone; he found himself overwhelmed once more by grief for his own father.

When evening fell, Lalita came in to light the lamp. From a distance, covering her head and shoulders reverently with her anchal, she bowed low in homage to him, and after pausing a moment, quietly walked away. Shekhar could neither bring himself to look up at this seventeen-year-old wife of another man nor call out to speak to her. Yet from the brief side-glance he managed, it seemed to him that Lalita had grown taller still, and terribly thin.

When the torrent of weeping had subsided, the gist of what Gurucharan’s widow said was that she wished to sell this house and go to live in Monghyr under the care of her son-in-law. Shekhar’s father had long desired to purchase this house; if they bought it now at a fair price, it would remain within their own family, as it were, saving her any sense of distress, and whenever she returned here in the future she could stay for a day or two—such were her thoughts. When Shekhar assured her he would consult his mother and do everything within his power, she wiped her eyes and asked, “Will Didi not be coming in the meantime, Shekhar?”

Shekhar informed her that he was setting out that very night to fetch her. Thereupon she inquired after every detail of news, one by one—when Shekhar’s wedding was to take place, where, what dowry of thousands, what ornaments, how Nabin Roy had died, how Didi had coped—speaking at length and listening to all he had to say.

By the time Shekhar was free to leave, the moon had risen. Just then Girindra came downstairs and, it seemed, went over to his elder sister’s house. Noticing him, Gurucharan’s widow asked, “Have you not met my son-in-law, Shekharpada? There is not another boy like him in all the world.”

Shekhar replied that he had not the slightest doubt of it, added that they were acquainted, and hurried out. But on reaching the front sitting room, he was brought to a sudden halt.

Lalita was standing concealed in the shadow of the doorway. She said, “Listen... are you going to fetch Mother tonight?”

Shekhar said, “Yes.”

“Is she terribly broken in spirit?”

“Yes, she was almost out of her mind.”

“How is your health?”

“It is fine,” Shekhar said, and hurried away.

Reaching the street, he shuddered from head to foot with shame and disgust. Having had to stand so close to Lalita, he felt as though his very body had been defiled. Returning to his room, he slammed his trunk shut anyhow; and knowing there was still time before his train, he threw himself upon his bed once more, vowing to burn away every trace of Lalita’s toxic memory. He stoked a raging wildfire of hatred in every pore of his heart. In the agony of that inner furnace, he reviled her silently in unutterable terms, shrinking not even from branding her an unchaste woman. Gurucharan’s wife had mentioned in passing, “After all, it wasn’t a happy wedding, so no one really kept it in mind in the end; otherwise Lalita had asked us to inform you all back then.” This audacious insolence of Lalita’s seemed to flare up like a towering flame above the blaze of his anger.