On the way, Devdas turned to her, “Beauty, do you know me?”
Chondromookhi replied, “Yes, I do.”
After that he came quietly with her. Once inside her house, Chondromookhi deposited him on the bed, and adjured him “Now sleep.”
It was late in the day when Devdas awoke. He had no recollection of what had happened the night before, only he had sensed a loving presence accompanying him. He had never been here before, everything in the room was unfamiliar, yet he recalled someone tenderly putting him to bed and bidding him to sleep. At this moment Chondromookhi entered. She had risen much earlier, bathed, seen to the kitchen. She was simply dressed, having changed out of her colorful sari, and removed her makeup. On seeing her, Devdas laughed out loud in pleasure and surprise. “Where did you kidnap me from?”
Chondromookhi smiled. “I did not kidnap you, merely picked you up from the wayside.”
Suddenly Devdas grew solemn. “But how is it that you are here? When did you come?”
“Almost two months ago.”
Devdas seemed to be doing some mental arithmetic. He said, “You must have come immediately after visiting our house.”
Now Chondromookhi was stunned. “How did you know I went your house?”
“Because I was there soon after you visit. I heard from the servants, that a stranger from Oshothjhuri village, had come visiting the day before, - a most beautiful woman, I knew at once it must be you.”
“Yet last night you could not recognize me!”
“True. Yet it occurred to me last night, that only my Chondromookhi could look after me with such tenderness.”
In pure happiness, Chondromookhi began to cry.
Later in the day, after he had bathed, Chondromookhi found Devdas wrapping a length of flannel around his stomach. Alaramed and perplexed, she asked, “What is that for?”
Devdas said, “Just a little pain in my stomach. Why are you fussing so?”
“Is the pain near the liver?”
“Perhaps. I’ve seen a physician and he says its my liver. He’s given me medications and I’m to live carefully!”
Chondromookhi understood only too well what this meant. Dharmadas was sent for, and money for treatment. A couple of days passed, then Devdas developed a fever.
Devdas said, “Lucky for me that you found me when you did, or we would not have seen each other again.”
As Chondromookhi nursed him, she prayed, “Dear Lord, I never dared to hope tat I would have him with me again. For this, I thank you; but please make him well.”
For more than a month, Devdas lay bedridden. Then slowly, he began to recover. It was during this time that he said to Chondromookhi, “Chondromookhi, your name is far too long to be said easily. I want to call you by a shorter name!”
Chondromookhi humored him, “Why not?”
Devdas asserted, “I shall call you by this name ‘Wife’!”
Chondromookhi laughed. “But that name has a meaning.”
“Must everything have a meaning? I will call you ‘wife’ because I wish to, that’s all.”
After a silence, Devdas said, gravely, “Wife, why do you look after me?”
Chondromookhi answered tenderly, “You are my treasure, don’t you know that yet?”
In a low voice, Devdas continued to talk, “You two are so dissimilar, and yet so alike. One is proud-spirited, independent, the other so meek, so mild. One cannot bear any kind of injustice, or suffering, the other has borne so much, still bears so much. One has a great name, reputation, the other is vilified. She is loved by all, while no one loves you, save me. For I love you, I do indeed.”
He sighed deeply, and continued. “I don’t know how we will be judged, but if there is a life after this one, and we meet again, then I will never leave your side, will never be able to leave you again.”
Throughout this, Chondromookhi wept silently; then she thought, “Dear God, if it’s true that there is another life, then let that be this sinner’s reward – do not part us then.”
It took weeks for the fever to leave Devdas, but his health refused to improve. Finally, one day, Devdas said, “I will go away, west to Elahabad. A change of air is necessary.”
Chondromookhi begged, “Take me with you. You will need someone to look after you.”
Devdas said, “No, I’m not as shameless as that yet.”
Sorrowfully, Chondromookhi said no more. She was an intelligent woman, and she understood. With her, Devdas would find love, he would appreciate her loving care, but he would forego the respect of the rest of the world. What respect does a woman of her status command?
Instead, she asked, “When will I see you again?”
Devdas said, “I will never forget you. I will always want to see you again.”
Chondromookhi stood aside. She said to herself, “This is enough for me.”
Before he left, Devdas gave her two thousand rupees.
“Keep it for yourself. Who knows what will happen? I don’t want you to be poor and helpless.”
Chondromookhi realized that it was good-bye indeef. Like a sick animal, Devdas was crawling away to die, and she would not see him again. So she held out her hand and took his parting gift.
Then, wiping her eyes, she said, “One more thing – “
“What?”
“Your sister-in-law told me that you had an ugly disease – is that true?”
Devdas was saddened. “That woman is capable of saying anything. You, of all people, should know that it is not true. You know me well, in this respect you are greater than Parvati.”
“Good. But be careful. And a last wish – will you send me news if you get sick?”
Devdas gazed at her and nodded. “That I will, wife.”
After that last farewell, Chondromookhi ran to her room and wept.
Chapter 16
After leaving Calcutta, Devdas traveled to Elahabad. While there, he wrote to Chondromookhi, “Wife, I never thought that I would love again! To have loved, and come away empty-handed is pain enough, then to risk loving again is folly.”
What Chondromookhi’s answer was, I cannot say, but during this period, Devdas kept wondering, “Couldn’t I just ask her to come here?” The next moment, he would think “What if Parvati were to hear of it?” In this fashion, he wavered between Parvati and Chondromookhi. Sometimes he would imagine them both together as though they were bosom friends. Sometimes he felt that they had both turned away from him and at these times he would be filled with great dissatisfaction.
He moved from Elahabad to Lahore, where chanced upon his erstwhile friend, Choony. They renewed their aquaintanceship, and Devdas began drinking again. Guiltily, he recalled Chondromookhi’s adjurations, he considered how wise she was, how steadfast, how affectionate. He did not think of Parvati for long stretches of time, then suddenly her memory would blaze up like a flash of lightning.
In Lahore, Devdas grew ill again. Yet he continued to go out, sometimes staying out all night. Once he did not return for two days; helpless with fear and worry, the faithful Dharmadas waited, barely able to eat or drink. On the third day, Devdas returned with a raging fever. Doctors were summoned and began treatment. Dharmadas begged, “Let me send word to your mother.”
Devdas replied, “I cannot see her in this state.”
“Why hide from her, when you need her most? Devdas, let’s fo to Benaras.”
But Devdas said stubbornly, “No, Dharmadas, not now. Wait till I’m better.”
Dharmadas even considered mentioning Chondromookhi, but he held her in such deep disgust, that he could not bring himself to speak her name.
Devdas himself thought of her often, yet he did not talk of her, or send word to her. As a result, no one came to him.
Finally one day he was able to leave his bed.
He said, “Dharmadas, let’s go somewhere else.”
“Let’s just go home, or to your mother!”
Instead, they returned to Elahabad. After a few days there, Devda
s said, “Dharmadas, let’s go to Bombay.”
The month was Jaistha; in Jaistha, Bombay is not too warm. Devdas felt that his health was improving. Dharmadas had said again, “Let’s go home.” But he refused. “I feel much better in this place. We’ll stay here a little longer.”
Almost a year had gone by, the month was Bhadro. Devdas, leaning on Dharmadas, walked out of the Bombay hospital, tears misting his eyes. While he lay in the hospital, he had been pondering his fate. He had everything , and he had nothing. He had a mother, a brother, Parvati, Chondromookhi; yet he was no one’s responsibility. Dharmadas wept, “Let us go to your mother now.”
Devdas was in the last stages of disease now. His liver was eaten away, he had a fever, and a cough. His once fair skin had darkened almost to black. His eyes were sunken, yet glittered unnaturally. He was all skin and bones, his figure deformed and twisted. At last, he said, “Dharmadas, let’s go home.”
On the train, his fever overcame him again, he lay unconscious as they passed Benaras. As they neared Patna, he gained consciousness. He tried to smile but could not. He said, “Iguess we won’t see mother this time. I think it will be hard going home. The fever’s worse, Dharmadas.”
“Let’s get off at Patna and see a doctor.”
“No, no, let’s go home.”
I was nearly dawn when the train drew into Pandua station. After falling continuously all night, the rain had stopped. Pandua! That was in the vicinity of Hathipota, where Parvati lived. On a sudden impulse, Devdas rose to his feet. On the floor, next to his bunk, Dharmadas lay asleep. Guiltily, Devdas gently touched his faithful head in farewell, not daring to wake him. Then he opened the carriage door noiselessly and stepped down. Then the train pulled away, taking the sleeping Dharmadas with it.
A solitary horse and coach stood near the station, and Devdas hailed the coachman.
“Can you take me to Hathipota?”
“No, sir. The rains have made the roads impossible. This horse will never make it through all the mud.”
Devdas asked anxiously, “Can a palanquin be found?”
“No, sir.”
Devdas sank down. Even a blind man could read the despair in his face. The coachman said, “An ox-cart might make it. Shall I fetch you one?”
“How long will an ox-cart take to reach Hathipota?”
“Perhaps two days.”
“Two days!” thought Devdas “Two days. Will I live that long?”
He recalled all the empty promises that he had made in his life, but this promise he had to keep – he had promised to see her before he died, but he had no certainty that he would live to keep this promise.
As he sat in the ox-cart, Devdas remembered his mother, and tears smarted in his eyes. Then another face, a loving and lovely face, that of Chondromookhi, took its place beside his mother, and the two seemed to look compassionately down at him. Devdas’s tears flowed freely now. He had despised her, disgusted by her profession, but now she took her place on a par with his mother. Devdas wept, he would never see her again, nor would she get the news of his death anytime soon. Yet he must get to Parvati, to keep his promise. In his disordered mind, this thought was fixated, he must reach Parvati.
The rains had flooded parts of the road, and sometimes mudslides obstructed, so the driver had to get out and heave the wheels and beat the pair of oxen mercilessly to unstick them. A cold wind blew, chilling Devdas. The month was Ashar, after all. The fever started again. He asked fearfully, “How much farther?”
“Another ten miles, sir.”
“Go as fast as you can. I’ll pay you well.” He pulled a hundred rupee note from his pocket, “a hundred rupees, if you get me there.”
Somehow, the night passed, Devdas lay feverish, almost unconscious. In the morning, he revived a little to ask, “How much farther? This path never ends!”
“Another six miles.”
“Go on! Go on! There’s no time left!”
The driver did not understand, but he did his best, shouting at the animals with renewed enthusiasm. At noon, they stopped to feed and rest the oxen. The driver ate some food, and inquired of Devdas, "“Sir, will you not eat anything?"
“No, no. But I have such a thirst. Give me some water.”
The driver fetched water for him from a nearby lake. In the evening, Devdas’s fever returned again. His body shook, and drops blood issued from his nose. He tried staunching the flow, then his mouth began to bleed from the gums. It was difficult to breathe.
He gasped out, “How much longer?”
“A little more that a mile. We’ll be there by nightfall.”
Devdas cried out, “Dear God!”
Startled, the driver asked, “Sir, what is the matter?”
But Devdas could not answer.
They did not reach Hathipota at nightfall. Instead, it was almost midnight when the cart stopped in front of the house of the Zamindar of Hathipota.
The driver said, “Sir, we’re here.”
No answer. He called again, and again there was no answer. Fearfully, he lit a lamp and held it up. “Sir, are you asleep?”
Devdas’s eyes were open, his lips moved but no sound came.
The driver called again, “Sir!’
Devdas tried to lift his hand but could not. A tear rolled down his cheek. At a loss, the driver made up a crude bed, and laid Devdas on it, then covered him with a shawl. The village was asleep, not a soul stirred. The driver, thinking of the hundred rupees Devdas had paid him, lit a lantern, and settled down at his feet.
Finally, the dawn broke. The gates of the Zamidar’s mansion were opened, and people emerged – and were amazed by the sight of a stranger, on his deathbed, under the great Oshoth tree. A gentleman, by the looks of him, polished shoes on his feet, a valuable ring on his finger. Many people came and at last word got to Sri Bhubon. Sending for a doctor immediately, he came down himself to Devdas. Devdas gazed at all these faces, but could not utter a word. The ox-cart driver explained as far as he was able, but he did not know much. The doctor arrived and announced, “This man will die at any moment.”
Everyone sighed sadly, “Ah, the poor thing.”
Sitting within the mansion, Parvati too thought, “Ah, the poor stranger!”
Someone gave Devdas water to drink. Devdas looked up gratefully, then closed his eyes. He breathed a few moments longer, then all came to an end.
Questions arose now – what was to be done with him? Who would give him a funeral? Who was he? Sir Bhubon sent word to the nearest police station. The inspector came and took notes. The cause of death - failure of the liver. Two letters were found in his pocket. One was written by Dwijdas Mookherjee of Tal-Sonapur to a certain Devdas of Bombay, claiming that it would be impossible to send money at this point. The other was from Horimoti Devi of Benaras to Devdas Mookherjee, inquiring after his health. On the left hand of the body , there was a ring inscribed with the English letter ‘D’. The inspector surmised that the body was that of Devdas Mookherjee. The inspector noted down all the items on the body, the sapphire ring, the clothes, the shoes. Sri Bhubon Chowdhury and his son Mohendro attested to it. When he heard Tal-Sonapur mentioned, Mohendro said, ‘That’s where Mother comes from. Maybe, if she saw him, she would know who it is.”
Sri Bhubon was shocked, “What! make her come here and look at a dead body?”
The inspector agreed that there was no need, and it would be too much for a sheltered, well-bred gentlewoman. So Parvati was not called upon to make an identification.
No one in the village would touch the body of the diseased stranger, and a Brahmin stranger at that. Members of an outlying Chondal tribe had to be hired to take the body for cremation. The villagers discussed the stranger incessantly, rich, a gentleman with expensive clothes, rings. – all these were being kept at the police station. Parvati heard, but because she paid scant attention to anything these days, it was just a jumble of noise to her. Yet the people continued to talk; that evening she called one of the maids and a
sked, “What has happened? Who died?”
The maid replied, “Ah, my lady, no one knows for sure. Maybe he lived here once, and came home to die. He lay under the Oshoth tree all night, dying. He passed away this morning at nine.”
Parvati sighed in sympathy. “Ah, poor stranger. So no one knows who he is?”
“Sri Mohendro may know, my lady, but I don’t.”
So Parvati asked Mohendro, who said, “He’s from your village, and his name is Devdas Mookherjee.”
Parvati stood very close to Mohendro, her eyes fixed and staring.
“How do you know?”
“There were two letters in pocket, one from a Dwijdas Mookherjee.”
Parvati interrupted, “Yes, his older brother.”
“Another was from Horimoti Devi of Benaras.”
“Yes, his mother.”
“A ring with ‘D’ on it.”
“Yes, purchased when he first went to Calcutta.”
“A blue sapphire ring.”
“When he received the sacred thread, Uncle – his father gave it to him.”
As she spoke, Parvati hastened down the stairs. Puzzled, Mohendro followed her.
“Mother, where are you going?”
“To see Devdas.”
“But he’s not here any more! His body was taken by the Chondals for cremation.”
“Oh, Great Mother!” Parvati cried out , and ran. Mohendro overtook her, and stood in her path.
“Mother! Are you crazy? Where are you going?”
Parvati glared at Mohendro.
“Do you really believe I’m crazy? Get out of my way!”
Mohendro met her fierce gaze, then stood aside, but followed her silently.
Parvati left the house. Outside, various people were working, and looked up, as she ran by.
Sri Bhubon stared too, and asked, “Who was that?”
Mohendro said, “Mother.”
“Where is she going?”
“To see Devdas.”
“What! She has gone mad. Quick, quick, stop her someone – Mohendro! Daughter-in-law!”
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