Devdas

by Sarat Chandra Chattopadhya

  “I don’t know that I can. He has never been to such places before, and I don’t know if he will again. But why do you want him to, Chondromookhi ? Have his harsh words provoked your passion ?”

  Chondromookhi laughed. “Someone who gives me money without even looking at it, is surely someone to ask back.”

  Choony shook his head. By this time he knew Chondromookhi fairly well.

  “That won’t do. You’re not so greedy for money. Tell me truly now, why ?”

  Then Chondromookhi said, “It’s strange, but I feel very sorry for him.”

  Choony stared unbelievingly at her, “Sorry for Devdas ? In these five minutes ?”

  Chondromookhi joined in his laughter.

  “Yes, but bring him back.”

  “I don’t know if I can, but I’ll try.”

  Chapter 10

  When Parvati arrived at her husband’s home, she saw that the mansion she expected to see was more like a palace. It was designed in the old-fashioned style, with the private inner rooms, public outer rooms, a temple, a theater, a guest house, a courthouse, offices, and servant’s quarters. And so many servants! Parvati was astonished. She had known her husband was wealthy, but she hadn’t known quite how wealthy. He appeared to lack nothing, nothing that is, save kinspeople. The inner palace was practically empty. Only

  an aged aunt was there there to welcome her as a newly-married bride, the rest of the people were the servants.

  In the evening, a good-looking, graceful youth of about twenty, approached her.

  “Mother”, said the youth, “I am your eldest son.”

  Parvati looked at him wordlessly.

  “Mother”, repeated the youth, “I am your eldest son, come to greet you.”

  Parvati pushed aside the head covering that almost veiled her face.

  In a gentle voice, she said, “Come here, my dear.”

  The youth, whose name was Mohendro, looked at Parvati in a surprised manner. Then he sat down and continued, “My mother died two years ago, and the past two years have passed in sorrow. Now you are here as my mother, bless me that the rest of my days will be spent in contentment.”

  It was not Parvati’s nature to be moved easily by soft words; she was mature beyond her years and false modesty was never one of her vices.

  She asked, “ Where are the rest of my children, my dear?”

  Mohendro answered with a smile, “ Your daughter, my younger sister, is at her in-laws. I wrote to her, but there was no way that Joshoda could come.”

  Parvati asked, in a grieved voice, “Couldn’t come or wouldn’t come?”

  Mohendro said, embarrassed,” I really don’t know, Mother.”

  But from his tone, and his looks, Parvati understood that Joshoda had refused to come, out of anger.

  She continued, “And my youngest son?”

  Mohendro replied,”He’s in Calcutta. He will return soon, when his examinations are over.”

  Bhubon Chowdhury took his duties are a zamindar seriously. He was busy from noon till night, overseeing his estates. Some nights he would visit Parvati, sometimes not. Even when he visited, he did not act like a newly-married bridegroom. He spoke little, and fell asleep soon.

  He instructed Parvati, “ You are the mistress of the house now. You must take care of it.”

  Parvati agreed, “Very well.”

  Further, he said, “Look, my children, they are yours now. Mohen, my eldest, a good boy, just passed his B.A., such a kind-hearted fellow. He could use some care.”

  Parvati stifled a giggle. “Yes, I know, he is my eldest son.”

  “Of course, and there’s my daughter Josho, what a beauty! She will come to visit, I’m sure of it. Won’t she come to see her old father? Of course she will! And when she comes …”

  Parvati gently carressed her husband’s head.

  “Of course she will come, “ she said soothingly “I will send for her, or ask Mohen to fetch her.”

  “You will ? I haven’t seen her for a long time. Will you really send for her?”

  “Of course I will. My daughter, don’t I want to see her, too?”

  At this Bhubon sat up eagerly. Holding Parvati’s hands tenderly, he cried, ”Bless you, may God bless you with long life and contentment.” , then remembering something, he lay down again and closed his eyes.

  “My eldest daughter, my only daughter, she loved her so…”, a tear escaped his closed eyes and trickled down his cheek. Parvati leant over to wipe it away. She said softly,

  “They will come, I promise you. Your daughter, your sons, and then your daughters-in-law. Yes, the house will be full of happiness again –laughter, conversation – ah, wasn’t this household a happy one, once? a joyful one, then one day the light went out, and all was dark, quiet as the grave …”

  Now Bhubon’s tears flowed freely. Parvati wiped them, asking ,“Why isn’t Mohen married yet”

  “Ah, don’t I wish he would marry? Yet, who knows what is in his heart, and he is stubborn. He refuses to marry. That’s why this house is empty, without the sound of children, and I am alone in my old age.”

  Parvati heard these melancholy words, sadly.

  Pretending to smile, she shook her head at him.

  “If you are old, then I must grow old fast! It doesn’t take women long to age.”

  Bhubon sat up again, and taking her hand in his, gazed long at her face. Gazed, as an artist might look at his painting, examining it from this side and that, looking to see if he had caught the affection, he pride, the beauty of the subject.

  He said, ”Ah, I’ve not done well!”

  “What haven’t you done well?”

  “I was thinking, bringing you here, to this – it won’t suit you.”

  Parvati laughed out loud, “ It suits me fine, and since when have women said they will ‘suit’ or ‘not suit’?”

  Lying down again, Bhubon said, as if to himself, “I understand, I understand. But good will happen because of you. God will bless you.”

  In this way, more than a month passed by. Nilkontho Chokrovorty came to visit, and to take his daughter home with him. But Parvati refused, saying, “This household still needs to be pulled into shape. I will come and visit in a little while.”

  Nilkontho turned away to hide a smile. He thought, “Women are mysterious beings indeed!”

  After good-byes were said, Parvati called Mohendro.

  “My dear, now you must bring my daughter to me!”

  Mohendro hesitated. He knew Joshoda would refuse to come. He said, “Maybe father should go?”

  “How will that look? No, I have a better plan – you and I will go, mother and son, to bring home the daughter.”

  Mohendro was astonished. “You would go?”

  “Why not? Is there shame in a mother going to her daughter? And if it appeases Joshoda’s rage, then why not?”

  The very next day, Mohendro set off on his own to fetch Joshoda. What persuasions he used, I don’t know, but four days later, he returned with Joshoda.

  That day, Parvati sat waiting, adorned with many costly ornaments. These were new, Bhubon had just ordered them from Calcutta, and Parvati wore them all today.

  Throughout the journey, Joshoda had been simmering with rage. Now beholding Parvati, her surprise superceded her anger. She murmured, “This!”

  Taking Joshoda by the hand, Parvati led her inside. Sitting beside her, she said, “My dear, I hear you are angry with me.”

  Joshoda blushed red. Slowly, Parvati unhooked all the ornaments that she was wearing, one by one, and put them on Joshoda.

  Surprised, Joshoda said, “What’s this?”

  “Nothing. Just something I wanted to do.”

  Now Joshoda rather liked jewelry. After the last bracelet was sparkling on her arm, a smile crept onto her lips. Parvati, now quite bare of ornaments, asked “My dear, are you angry with me?”

  “Angry? No,no. Why should I be?”

  “My dear, this is your father’s house. I am an
orphan here, merely one of many. I am here to look after the household, to take care of it.”

  Joshoda was older than Parvati in years, but much younger in maturity. She grew helpless at these words. With a cry, she sprang up, “Mother! I am so sorry!”

  Parvati caught her hands.

  Joshoda cried, “Don’t blame me, Mother!”

  The next day, Mohendro sought Joshoda out privately.

  “Well, still angry?”

  Quickly, Joshoda placed her hand on his mouth. She said,”Brother, I said many wicked things at the height of my rage. Please, please, don’t tell anyone!”

  Mohendro began to laught.

  Wonderingly, Joshoda asked, “Tell me, can a stepmother be so kind?”

  A few days later, Joshoda requested her father, “Dad, will you write to them, to my husband’s house, and tell them I’ll be staying here a little longer? Another month?”

  Bhubon was a little surprised, “Why, my dear?”

  Joshoda hesitated, she laughed a little. “Well, I wasn’t feeling that well. I’d like to stay a little longer – until I’m better – with Little Mother.”

  Tears of joy rose to Bhubon’s eyes. That evening he said to Parvati, “Bless you, you’ve freed me.”

  Parvati said, “Freed you from what?”

  “From guilt. From shame! You’ve set me free. Ah. I am happy now.”

  And Binode Lal, Bhubon’s youngest son, came home after the examinations, and was so well taken care of, that he declared he would never leave home again.

  Chapter 11

  Now Devdas spent his days aimlessly wandering the streets; Dharmadas protested, but Devdas drove him away with harsh and angry words. Even ChooniLal did not dare to speak to him.

  Dharmadas came to ChooniLal, “Master Choony,what has happened to him?”

  Choony put the same question to Dharmadas, “What has happened to him?”

  Neither of them knew the cause of Devdas’s erratic behavior. Wiping the teawrs from his eyes, Dharmadas entreated Choonilal, “By whatever means, send him home! If he isn’t going to study, what’s the point of his staying here?”

  Dharmadas was right, Choonilal thought.

  A few nights later, Devdas came across Choonilal, just as Choonilal, dressed in evening clothes, was about to leave the house.

  Devdas said, “Choony, are you going to that place?”

  Choonilal stammered, “Well, yes, but if you don’t want me to…”

  Devdas interrupted, “No, no, I don’t intend to stop you, but I have one question. What do you hope for when you go there?”

  “Hope for? Nothing. It passes the time.”

  “Time passes? Time drags for me. I wish time would pass for me.”

  Choonilal looked intently at Devdas, trying to read his face.

  “Devdas, what has happened to you?”

  “Nothing’s happened.”

  “So you won’t tell me?”

  “No, Choony, there’s nothing for me to tell.”

  Choonilal paused, as though struggling with himself. Then he blurted, “Will you do something for me?”

  “What?”

  “Come with me once more.”

  “To that place?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why do you ask? I didn’t like it there.”

  “I promised someone – and I’ll make sure you’ll like it.”

  Devdas said, in an absent-minded way, “All right. I’ll go.”

  Another scene in Chondromookhi’s house:

  Choonilal was in a different chamber. Devdas sat in Chondromookhi’s room, drinking.

  Chondromookhi sat nearby, watching him. Presently, she said, “Devdas, don’t drink any more tonight.”

  Devdas set down his glass and frowned at her.

  “Why?” he demanded.

  “You’re not used to it yet. You won’t be able to bear it.”

  “I drink so that I can bear it here.”

  Chondromookhi had heard these words from Devdas’s lips often enough by now. Sometimes, she felt like striking her head against a wall, and striking herself dead or senseless; for she had come to love Devdas – at first a kind of pity for this strange, golden youth, then a strong attraction in spite of herself. Devdas seized the glass and flung it, so that it fell, shattering against the leg of the couch.

  Lying back on the cushions, he said thickly, “I don’t have the power to rise up and leave, I’ve lost my senses, I look at you and I talk, Chondro, yet, yet I’m conscious; I can’t touch you – its disgusting.”

  Weeping, Chondromookhi pleaded, “Devdas, many people come here, and they don’t come to get drunk.”

  Now Devdas stretched his eyes open wide, and tried to fix them on her. “They don’t get drunk?” he slurred “If I had my gun handy, I’d shoot those shameless bastards. They are far worse than me, Chondromookhi.”

  He seemed to think something over. Finally, he muttered as if to himself, “if I ever give up drinking, - which I won’t – then I shall never return to this place. I could do it, but what of her?”

  After another silence, he continued, “I only started drinking in my grief. Drink! The friend of the embattled and the grief-stricken! And I cannot leave you.” He turned his head to the pillow and scrubbed his face violently with it. Quickly, Chondromookhi came over and raised his head. Devdas frowned, “Don’t touch me! I’m not drunk yet! Chondromookhi, you don’t know, you don’t know how much you disgust me. Yet I’ll come, I’ll sit near you, talk to you, for I have no choice. Can you understand any of this? Thieves, robbers, they do their evil deeds under cover of darkness, and I do mine under the darkness of drink, - and you – “

  With an effort, Devdas focused on her sad face.

  “Ah, a vision of sympathy! How amazing women are! Neglect,- insults – sharp words – they will bear anything! You are an example!”

  Then, lying flat on his back, staring up, he whispered, “Chondromookhi says she loves me. I don’t want it, don’t want it. All the world’s a stage, people put on masks, they become thieves, beggars, kings, queens – they make love, they speak loving words, they weep, as though it was all real. Chondromookhi acts in a play – and I watch, but the one I remember – how everything changed in a moment! Where did she go, and where did I end? Now I must play act the rest of my life! A drunk! and this one – what of her? Well, what of her! No hope – no happiness – no end. Bravo! the play ends – Bravo!”

  Devdas continued to mutter something incomprehensible.

  Finally he fell asleep. Then Chondromookhi came to sit by him, sorrowfully. When it was almost one o’clock, she rose, turned out the lamp, and closing the door behind her, retired to another chamber.

  Chapter 12

  The two brothers, Devdas and Dwijdas, and several villagers returned together to the Mookherjee manor. After the funeral. Dwijdas wept loudly and carried on as though he had been driven out of his senses with grief. His companions could hardly restrain him.

  All this while, Devdas stood calmly leaning against on of the marble columns. No sound issued from his mouth, not a tear fell from his eyes. No one touched him, no one offered him comfort. At one point, Modhusudon Ghoshe approached him, saying, “Dear boy, if it was to be …”

  He never finished what he came to say. Devdas gestured in Dwijdas’s direction, “Over there,” he said.

  Taken aback, Modhusudon Ghoshe exclaimed, “Yes, he is very much affected.” And moved away. Nobody else drew near him.

  It was past two in the afternoon , when Devdas took himself off to his mother’s chambers, where she sat, half swooning, among several women. Parvati’s grandmother was there too. Perceiving Devdas, she cried out in her cracked voice, “My dear, look, your son Devdas is here.” Devdas said softly, “Mother!”

  The widow looked up briefly and said, “Child!”, then she closed her eyes but tears still flowed. At this, several of the women present also began to weep. Devdas sat with his mother for a while, then he rose and slowly made his way to his fat
her’s bedroom. Still dry-eyed, calm and solemn, he entered and sat down on the floor. If some stranger beheld him now, surely they would have been frightened. His eyes were reddened from drink and sleeplessness, veins stood out like ropes on his forehead, his hair unkempt and rough, hooded his face. The warm gold of his skin had dulled and darkened in an unhealthy way. His mode of life in Calcutta, his sudden journey home, the sleepless vigil at his father’s sickbed, his father’s death, all had taken such a toll on his appearance that people who knew him of old could barely recognize him.

  The door opened slightly, then Parvati’s mother stepped inside.

  “Devdas!”

  “Why, aunt!”

  “It won’t do to go on like this, my dear!”

  Devdas gazed tranquilly at her.

  “What have I done, aunt?”

  She did not answer; instead she drew Devdas to her in an embrace.

  She said, “Your father, …, your father..”

  “What is it, aunt?”

  “He is with the gods, my dear.”

  Resting his head on her shoulder, Devdas allowed himself to weep.

  Even in the most grif-stricken families, the daily chores will not wait. Eventually the weeping died down, Dwijdas showed signs of normalcy, his mother sat up, wiped her eyes and continued with the housework.

  After a few days, Dwijdas inquired of Devdas, “How much do you think we should spend on the funeral ceremonies?”

  Looking at his brother, Devdas replied, “As you think fit.”

  “No, brother, it cannot be my decision only. You are of age now, I must consider you too.”

  Devdas asked, “How much ready cash do we have?”

  “Father had almost 2 lakhs in the bank. I think ten thousand will be sufficient for the ceremonies.”

  “How much will I get?”

  After a little hesitation, Dwijdas said, “You will get half. If we spend ten thousand, then you will get seventy thousand, and so shall I.”

  “What will Mother get?”

  “What is Mother going to do with cash? She will live here, and we will provide for her.”