Devdas

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Click to Read Chapters ( Chapter 2 ) ( Chapter 3 ) ( Chapter 4 ) ( Chapter 5 )
( Chapter 6 ) ( Chapter 7 ) ( Chapter 8 )( Chapter 9 )

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It’s been a long time since we wrote to each other and I think the fault lies in both of us. I want to make up with you—let’s just both admit to our fault and move on, shall we? I am older than you so I thought I would break the silence and write first; I hope you will reply soon. So, my news—I came to the village last month. How am I ? Well, we middle class women, aren’t very good at talking about how we are, are we? Earlier someone is dead and gone or, if they’re alive, they’re doing fine. So I too am doing fine, I suppose. That’s all as far as my news in concerned, really—pretty boring, you will say. But then I didn’t have anything much to say….
I did want to tell you something actually—I’ve been thinking whether to tell you or not. If I do, you will be hurt and if I don’t I’ll feel terrible. It’s a no-win situation. Well, it’s about Devdas. I know you’ll be upset hearing about him, but I feel just as bad thinking of your misery. I’d say you have had a lucky escape; if you had fallen into his hands, with the kind of pride you have, by now you’d either have poisoned yourself or drowned in the river. Well….. what I have to tell you is not a secret… sooner or later you’d have come to hear of it anyway—the whole world knows.
He has been here for the last week or so. I guess you know, his mother has moved to Varanasi and Devdas has been living in Calcutta. He has come home merely to pick a fight with his brother and to take some money. I hear that he comes here quite often these days, and stays for as long as it takes to get the money. With the cash in hand, he goes away.
It is now two and a half years since his father died. You’ll be surprised to know that he has gone through half of his inheritance in this short time. I believe Dwijodas is a cautious man and hence he held on to his father’s estate—or it would have gone to the dogs by now. Devdas is drowning himself in alcohol and consorting to prostitutes—who can save him now? Death stands very close—he doesn’t have long to live. Mercifully, he hasn’t married.
I feel so sad for him. His looks, that fair skin, the bright sparkle in his eyes-they’re all gone; he seems to be someone else now. Unkempt hair flying in the wind, eyes sunken deep, his prominent nose sticking out of hollowed cheeks—I can’t describe how uncouth he looks. He strikes fear and revulsion in the heart. All day long he roams the riverside with his gun, shoots birds. If his head spins in the hot sun, he sits under the berry tree, head tucked into his chest. At dusk he goes home and drinks. The nights—who knows if he sleeps or roams the streets.
One evening I had gone to the river to fetch water; I saw him walking along the bank with his gun, looking like death. He recognized me and came closer. I was sacred stiff. There wasn’t a living soul around—I was beside myself with fear. But by God’s grace, he behaved himself. Like a harmless boy, he asked me, “Mano-didi, how are you?”
What could I do? I nodded nervously.
He heaved a sigh and said, “Be happy, didi. The sight of you all gladdens the heart.” I picked up my pot and ran like the devil was behind me. Oh God. Thank goodness he didn’t grab my hand or something. Enough of him--- talking of such depraved souls will do us no good.
Did I hurt you terribly, Paro? If you haven’t forgotten him still, it will hurt. But what’s the choice? And, if I have offended your dear soul, please find it in your generous heart to forgive your Mano-didi.
The letter had arrived the day before, Parvati called Mahendra and said” I need two palanquins and thirty-two bearers. I want to go to Talshonapur right now.”
Astounded, Mahendra, asked, “I can easily arrange for those. But mother, why two?”
Parvati said, “You will come with me, son. If I die on the way, I’ll need my eldest son to do the last rites.”
Mahendra held his counsel. The palanquins arrived and the two set off.
When Bhuvan-babu heard of it, he questioned all the maids and servants. But no one could give him a satisfactory answer about the reason for this trip. So, wise man that he was, he sent forth five more guards and servants in their wake. One of the guards asked, “If we meet them on the way, should we fetch them back?”
Bhuvan-babu considered this and said, “No, don’t do that. Just go along with them and see that they reach safely.”
That evening the palanquins arrived at Talshonapur shortly after dusk. But Devdas wasn’t there. He had left for Calcutta at noon that day. Parvati struck her brow and blamed her fate. She did, however, meet Manorama.
Manorama said, “Paro, did you come to see Devdas?”
Parvati said, “No, I didn’t come to see him. I came to take him home with me. There’s no one to care for him here.”
Manoram was truly surprised,”What? You wouldn’t feel ashamed?”
“Why? What is there to be ashamed of – I will take back what is rightfully mine.”
“Oh shame—don’t even talk like that. You are not even related to him.”
Parvati’s smile was wan, “Mano-didi, the words that have lodged in my brain ever since I learnt to think, have a habit of slipping out sometimes. You are like a sister to me, and so you have heard them.
The following morning Parvati touched her parents’ feet and got into the palanquin once more. They headed back to Hatipota.

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( Chapter 8 )

For the last two years Chandramukhi had lived in Ashathjhuri village, named after an ancient peepul tree that had left its hanging roots flow into the ground in a large area around itself. On the banks of the river, on a slight gradient, stood Chandrmaukhi’s ramshackle hut.Adjoining it was a shed where a black, healthy cow was tethered. There were two rooms—one kitchen-cum-store room and the other the bedroom. The yard was swept and wiped clean—Ram Bagdi’s daughter did that every day. Thorny bushes fringed the yard; a berry tree stood in the middle and a tulsi plant had its pride of the place in one corner. Chandrmaukhi had got some men to cut down the palm tree and make some steps from her hut down to the river. She was the only one who used those steps. When the rains came, the banks overflowed and the water lapped around her doorstep. The villagers came running with shovels and spades and dumped some oil to raise the level of the ground. There were no genteel folk in this village, just farmers, some lower castes, a mattering of milkmen and a few cobbler families.
After Chandramukhi had settled in the village, she had written to Devdas. With his reply he had sent some money. Chankdramukhi loaned out this money to the villagers. When in trouble, they all rushed to her, borrowed a small sum and went home. She didn’t charge any interest on the loans. Instead, they gifted her odd vegetables from the fields or milk or grains. She never asked anymore for the money back. Whoever could, returned it; a lot of others didn’t. Chandramukhi would only laugh and say, “ I’ll never give you money again.”
The villagers went down on their knees and pleaded, “Mother, pray that we have good rains this year.”
Chandramukhi prayed. But then the crops weren’t as good as expected, or the villagers were pressed for taxes, and they came to her again and once again she gave them what she could. Smiling to herself, she said, “May God, grant him a long life—I don’t have to worry about money as long as he’s there.”
But where was Devdas? For the last six months there had been no news of him. Her letters were unanswered. Registered letter came back undelivered. Chandramukhi had helped a milkman’s family to build near her hut, paid their son’s dowry and bought them some farm implements. They were dependent on her and extremely loyal. One morning Chandrmaukhi called the milkman, and said, “Bhairav, do you know how far Talshonapur is from here?”
Bhairav scratched his head, “Their estate lies at the end of two meadows from here.”
Chandramukhi asked, “Does the landlord’s family live there?”
Bhairav said, Yes, all of this area belongs to them. The old zaminadar went to heaven three years ago. All the villagers ate hearty meals for a month then… Now his two sons run the estate-- they’re rich, like Kings.”
Chandramukhi said, “Bhairav, could you take me there?”
Bhairav said, Certainly, Mother, any day you wish.”
Chandramukhi was eager, “Then let’s go today, Bhairav.”
Bhairav was taken aback.“Today?” then he glanced at her face and said, “Mother, in that case you finish your cooking as fast as you can and I’ll bundle up some puffed rice for myself.”
Chandramukhi said, “I won’t cook today, Bhairav; you get ready.”
Bhairav went home, wrapped up some puffed rice and sweet molasses in a cloth, slung it over his shoulder, picked up a walking stick and returned in two minutes. He asked Chandramukhi, “Won’t you eat something, Mother?”
Chandramukhi said “No, Bhairav, I haven’t yet finished my daily puja. If there is time, I’ll do that once we reach.”
Bhairav led the way. Chandramukhi toiled away behind him, walking the narrow ridges between the rice fields. Her tender feet, unused to such hardship, were soon lacerated and bleeding; her face grew hot and flushed in the blazing sun. She hadn’t bathed or eaten. But she went on and on, walking across the endless fields. The farmers working the fields stared at her speechless wonder. She wore a red-bordered white sari and two bangles on her wrists; half her face was veiled with her anchal. When the sun was a few minutes from setting the two of them arrived at the village. Chandramukhi smiled and asked, “Bhairav, have the two meadows ended at last?’
The sarcasm was lost on Bhairav as he spoke with simple candour, “Mother, we are here. But do you think your delicate disposition will allow us to go back tonight?”
Chandramukhi thought, “Forget tonight, I doubt if I’ll be able to walk back even tomorrow.” She said aloud, Bhairav, can’t we hire a cart?”
Bhairav said, “But of course, Mother, should I get a bullock cart?”
Chandramukhi ordered him to do just that and entered the zamindar’s mansion. Bhairav went the other way, to arrange for a cart.

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In the inner chambers, the daughter-in-law, now the mistress of the house, sat on the veranda upstairs. A maid led Chandramukhi to her. Both of them looked each other over thoroughly.
Chandramukhi folded her palms in greeting. Dwijodas’s wife was covered in ornaments and her eyes sparked with arrogance. Her lips and teeth were blackened by the juice of betel nuts. Her cheek was still puffed up on one side, probably stuffed with tobacco and paan. Her hair was pulled back and tied into a knot, almost on top of her head. On her two ears she wore some twenty to thirty rings and tops. A diamond glittered on her nose and the other nostril had a big hole too—perhaps she had had to wear a nose ring in the days of her mother-in-law. Chandramukhi noticed that the lady was quite stout and plump, dark in complexion, with large eyes and a round face—she wore a black-bordered sari and brocade blouse. Chandramukhi felt repulsed at the very sight of the woman.
The lady noticed that although she was past her prime, Chandramukhi’s beauty defied description. They were perhaps the same age, but of course she would rather have died than admitted that. In this village, she had never seen such beauty, except of course Parvati. Quite stunned, she asked, “Who are you?”
Chandramukhi said, “I am one of your subjects. I owe some taxes and I have come to pay.”
The lady was pleased. “But why here?” she said. “Go to the estate office.”
With a slight smile Chandramukhi said, “Mother, we poor and hapless, we can’t pay all the taxes at once. I’ve heard you are the very soul of generosity. Hence I’ve come to you—if you could let off some of it.”
This was a first for the lady. To be told that she was the soul of generosity, that she could forfeit taxes—Chandramukhi became her favourite person in a minute. She said, “Well, child, we have to forfeit so much money every day, so many people come begging to me. I cannot say no. The master gets so angry. So, how much do you owe?”
“Not much, Mother, just two rupees, But to us, that a good as a fortune. I have walked all day to get here.”
The lady said, “Oh you poor soul, we must show some mercy. Oh Bindu, take her outside and tell the head-clerk that I have asked him to let her off the two rupees. So, child, where do you live?”
Chandramukhi said, “On a corner of your land—Ashathjhuri village. Mother, both the masters are heirs now, aren’t they?”
The lady said, “Hardly. The younger one is good as gone. Shortly, we’ll be sole heirs.
Chandramukhi was anxious, “Why Mother, is the younger master in debt?”
The lady smiled spitefully, “All is pledged to me. He has gone to the dogs.Drinks and whores, that’s all he’s into in Calcutta. He has gone through a stupendous amount of money already.”

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Chankradukhi’s face fell. She paused and then asked, “So, Mother, doesn’t he even come home?”
The lady said, “Of course he comes home, every time he needs money. He takes loans, writes off parts of his property and goes away. Just a couple of months ago he came and took twelve thousand rupees. He doesn’t even have the will to live… horrible disease all over his body… what shame..”
Chandramukhi shuddered. With a drawn face she asked, “Where does he live in Calcutta, Mother?”
The lady struck her brow and smiled, “Dear me does anyone know that? Where he eats, in some roadside shack, and then whose house he sleeps in, only he knows. And death does too, I suppose.”
Suddenly Chandramukhi rose, “I must go now---”
The lady was a little surprised, “You’ll go? Oh, Bindu---”
Chandramukhi stopped her, “It’s all right, milady, I’ll be able to find my way out to the office.” She walked away slowly. Outside, she found Bhairav waiting for her, the bullock cart ready. Chandramukhi came back home that same night.
The following morning she called Bhairav and said, “I’m going to Calcutta today, You won’t be able to come. So I’ll take your son with me shall I?”
“As you wish. But why Calcutta, Mother, is there some pressing need?”
“Yes, Bhairav, it’s urgent.”
“When will you come back, Mother?”
I can’t say. I maybe back soon, or I may be late. And if I never come back, my house and everything else belongs to you.”
Bhairav was speechless, Then his eyes brimmed with tears, “What are you saying, Mother? If you don’t come back, the folks of this village will die.”
Chandramukhi’s eyes were moist too. “What is this, Bhairav?” she said, “I’ve been her only two years, weren’t you all alive before that?”
The dense Bhairav couldn’t answer that one, but Chandkramukhi knew that there was some truth in what he had said. She was taking Bhairav’s son Kebla with her. When all her things were loaded on to the cart and she was ready to leave, all the villagers gathered round to see her off. They wept bitterly. Chandramukhi couldn’t contain her tears either. What was there in Calcutta? If it hadn’t been for Devdas, Chandrmukhi would never have turned away from so much love and gone away, not even if she had been offered the crown.
The next day she arrived in Calcutta.Other people now lived in her old place. Khetramani, her neighbour, was surprised to see her, “Didi, where were you all these days?”
Chandrakmukhi glosed over the truth and said, “In Allahabad.”
Khetramani took in all the details of her appearance, from head to toe, and asked, ‘Where is all your jewellery, didi?”
Chandramukhi smiled and answered briefly, “It’s all there.”
The same day she met the grocer and asked, “Dayal, how much money do I have?”
Dayal was caught unawares, “Well, child, about seventy rupees”.
“I can give it in a day or so.”
“You don’t have to give me anything, if you do a few things for me.”
“Like what?”
“Its about two days work. You must rent a good place in this area, all right?”
Dayal laughed, “As you say.”
“A good place with a nice bed, clean sheets, lights, paintings, two chairs, a desk – got it?”
Dayal nodded.
“Buy a mirror, combs, two colourful saris, blouses.. and, do you know where to get some fake jewellery?”
Dayal rattled off the address.
Chandramukhi said, “I need a set of those as well. I’ll come with you to select them.” She laughed and said, “You know all that we need, right? I must have a good maid too.”
Dayal said, ‘When do you want all this done?”
“As soon as possible. Within a few days would be nice.”
Chandramukhi tucked a hundred –rupee note into his palm and said, “Get the best of everything, don’t cut corners.”
On the third day she moved into the new place. She spent the entire day getting Kebla to arrange things to her satisfaction and in the evening, she sat down to dress herself. She washed her face with soap and dusted with powder, coloured her feet red, chewed some betel leaf and tinged her lips with red too. The she decked herself in her new blouse, a colourful sari and the jewellery. After years, she tied her hair and wore a bindi. She studied herself in the mirror and smiled to herself, “Let’s see what else fate has in store for me.”
Keba, the rustic village boy, was stunned to see this novel way of dressing up and he asked timidly, “What’s this, didi?”
Chandramukhi laughed, “Kebla, today my groom will be coming.”
Kebla stared at her in bemused wonder.
After dusk, Khetramani came over. She said, “Didi, what is all this?”
Chandramukhi gave a covert smile, “These are all needed again, you see.”
Khetramani stared at her for some minutes and then said, “As you grow older, didi, you seem to grow more beautiful.”
After she left, Chandramukhi sat down by the window, like in the evenings years ago. She stared down at the street fixedly. This was what she was here for; as long as she stayed here, this was what she’d do. Some new people did come around; they wanted to come in and they pushed and shoved at the door. As if by rote, Kebla repeated from inside, “Not here.”
Sometimes an old acquaintance dropped in. Chandramukhi welcomed them in and smiled and talked to them. In the course of the conversation she asked about Devdas. But they knew nothing, and she got rid of them at once. In the dead of night she roamed the streets, went from house to house, eavesdropping, trying to hear something—but the name she wanted to hear was never spoken. Suddenly a stranger with a covered face would reach for her, and she would have to move away hastily.

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In the afternoons, she visited her old friends. As they chatted, she asked, “Do you know Devdas?”
“Who is Devdas?”
Eagerly, Chandramukhi described him, “Fair, a headful of curls, a mark on the left brow, very rich –spends money like water, do you know him?”
No one did. Chandramukhi had to return home disappointed, downcast every day. She stayed up till all hours, staring out of the window. The advent of sleep only irritated her. She chided herself, “Is this a time to sleep?”
Slowly, a month went by. Kebla grew restless. Chandramukhi, too began to wonder if Devdas was in the city at all. Still, she kept at her vigil, prayed fervently and took it one day at a time, always in hope.
Nearly one and a half months after her arrival in Calcutta, one night fate smiled on her. It was nearly eleven at night, she was returning home disconsolately when she suddenly noticed a man sitting by the wayside, in front of a house, and muttering to himself.
Her heart leaped-she new the voice. She could tell that the voice from a thousand others. It was dark here, and the man lay flat on his face, dead drunk. Chandramukhi went near him and shook him lightly, “Who are you, lying here like this?”
The man sang the grabled words, “Hear me friends, I don’t have a love, if Krishna were my husband—”
Chandramukhi was certain now. She called, “Devdas?”
Without moving a muscle, he answered, “Hmmm?”
“Why are you lying here? Will you go home?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Do you want a drink?”
“Yes,” he nearly fell on her in his eagerness. Arm around her neck, he asked, “Such a good friend—who are you?”
Tears flowed down her cheeks. Devdas stumbled and lurched and stood up with her support. He stared at her face and said, “Well, well, nice looking face.”
Chandramukhi smiled through her tears and said, “Yes, pretty nice, now try to hold on to me and move forward. We need a buggy.”
Of course we do.” As they walked. Devdas asked in slurred tones, “Hey pretty lady, do you know me?”
Chandramukhi said, “Yes.”
He leaned against her all the way back home in the buggy. At the door he fished his pocket, “Pretty lady, you may have picked me up, but my pockets are empty.”
Chandramukhi quietly dragged him in by the hands, took him to the bedroom and pushed him on to the bed. “Sleep,” she said.
Still slurring his words, Devdas said, “Are you up to something?
Didn’t I just tell you my pockets are empty. It’s no use, pretty lady.”
The pretty lady knew that. She said, “Pay me tomorrow.”
Devdas said, “Such faith—it’s not good. Tell me the truth—what do you want?”
Chandramukhi said, “I’ll tell you tomorrow,” and she went into the next room.
When Devdas awoke, it was late morning. The room was empty. Chandrmukhi had bathed and gone downstairs to prepare lunch. Devdas looked around –he had never come to this room, he didn’t know a single object here. He didn’t remember anything of the previous night, except that someone had taken care of him ever so tenderly. Someone had brought him here lovingly and put him to bed.
Chandramukhi walked into the room. She had changed her earlier attire. She still wore the jewels, but the colourful sari, bindi, and the betel leaf stains on her lips were all gone. She came in wearing an ordinary sari. Devdas looked at her and laughed, “From where did you burgle me in here last night?”
Chandramukhi said, “I didn’t steal you away, just picked you up.”
Suddenly Devdas grew serious, “Be that as it may. But what is all this with you again? When did you come here? You’re fairly glittering with jewellery—who gave you all this?”
Chandramukhi looked at him sharply and said, “Don’t.”
Devdas laughed and said, “All right, I can’t even joke about it? When did you come?”
“About one and a half months ago.”
Devdas did some calculations in his head and said, “So you came here soon after you went to my house?”
Surprised, Chandramukhi asked, “How did you know I went to Talshonapur?”
Devdas said, “I went back there soon after you left. A maid—the one who escorted you to my sister-in-law –told me; yesterday a woman came here from Ashathjhuri village, she’s very beautiful. That said it all. But why did you get all these ornaments made again?”
“I didn’t have them made—these are all fake. I bought them here in Calcutta, Just look at the waste though—I spent all this money for your sake. And you didn’t even recognize me yesterday when you saw me.”
Devdas laughed, “I may not have recognized you, but the caring was familiar. I do remember thinking, who could be so caring but for my Chandramukhi?”
She wanted to weep for joy. After a few moments’ silence she asked, “Devdas, you don’t hate me quite as much now, do you?”
Devdas said, “No, but I do love you.”
In the afternoon as he prepared for his bath, she noticed a piece of flannel tied around his stomach. Frightened, she asked, “Why have you tied that?”
Devdas said, “I get an ache there sometimes. But why are you so scared?”
Chandramukhi struck her brow and said, “Have you gone and ruined yourself- is your liver infected?”
Devdas laughed and said, “Chandramukhi, perhaps that’s what it is.”

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( Chapter 9 )

The same day the doctor came and examined Devdas for a long time. He was most concerned. He prescribed some medicines and advised that the utmost care was needed. Or things could come to a fatal pass. They both understood the upshot of this advice. Word was sent home and Dharma arrived some money was drawn from the bank for the treatment. Two days passed smoothly after this. But on the third day Devdas had fever.
He sent for Chandramukhi and said, “You came at the right moment, or you may have never set eyes on me again.”
Chandramukhi wiped her tears and began to tend to him in right earnest. She prayed with folded hands, “God, never in my dreams did I imagine I would come in so handy at such a crucial hour. But please let Devdas get well.”
Devdas was bedridden for nearly a month. Then he slowly began to recover. The malady was contained.
One day Devdas said, “Chandramkhi, your name is really long—I can’t say it all the time. Shall I shorten it?”
Chandramukhisaid , “Sure.”
Devdas said, “So from now on I’ll call you Bou.”
Chandramukhi laughed, “Bou? You mean “wife”? But why?”
“Does everything have to have a reason?”
“No… if that’s what you want, go ahead. But won’t you tell me why you have this wish?”
“No. Don’t ask me the reason.”
Chandramukhinooded, “All right.”
Devdas was silent for several minutes. Then he asked gravely, “Tell me, Bou, what am I to you that you are caring for me like this?”
Chandramukhi was neither a bashful, blushing bride, nor a gauche, naïve girl; she looked at Devdas serenely and her voice dripped compassion, “You are my everything—don’t you know that yet?”
Devdas was staring at the wall. He didn’t take his eyes off it as he spoke slowly, “I do, but it doesn’t bring much joy. I loved Paro so much she love me so much—and yet, there was such pain. After that moment I vowed never to set foot in this trap again; and I didn’t, at least not by choice. But why did you do this? Why did you get me involved like this?” After a while he said, “Bou, perhaps you will suffer like Paro.”
Chandramukhi covered her face and sat down on the edge of the bed.
Devdas continued, “You two are so much unlike each other, but still similar. One proud and haughty, the other gentle and restrained. She has little patience and you are so forebearing. She has a good name, respect, and you live in shame. Everyone loves her, but nobody loves you. But I love you yes, of course I love you.” He heaved a great sigh and spoke again, “I do not know what the judge of sin and virtue up above is going to make of you, but if we ever meet after death, I will never be to part from you.”
Chandramukhi wept in silence and prayed fervently, “Dear God, if ever in a future life, this sinner is granted pardon, let that be my reward.”
A couple of months passed. Devdas was healed, but he wasn’t fully recovered. He needed a change of air. The following day he was headed westwards, accompanied by Dharmadas.
Chandramukhi begged, “You will need a maid too, let me come with you.”
Devdas said, “Imposible. Whatever I may do, I cannot be so shameless.”
Chandramukhi was robbed of speech. She wasn’t stupid and she understood him well. Come what may, she could not have a place of pride in the world. She could help Devdas regain his health, she could give him pleasure, but she could never give him respectability. She wiped her tears and asked, “When will I see you again?”
“can’t say. But as long as there’s life in me, I will not forget you, I’ll always yearn for a sight of you.”
Chandramukhi touched his feet and stood aside. Quietly, she said, “That’s enough for me; I never wanted more than that.”
Before leaving, Devdas gave two thousand rupees to Chandramukhi and said, “Keep this money. You can’t trust life and death. I don’t want you to be helpless and destitute.”
Once again, Chandramukhi got the message. So she held out her hand and took the money. “Just tell me one thing before you go…” she said.
Devdas glanced at her, “What is it?”
Chandramukhi said, “Your sister-in-law told me that you have contracted unmentionable diseases. Is that true?”
Devdas was hurt at that. “I must say that woman is capable of a lot,” he said. “If had such a disease, wouldn’t you know? Is there anything about me that you aren’t aware of? In this respect you know me better than even Paro.”
Chandramukhi dashed away her tears and said, “Thank goodness. But still, be careful. You are not in the best of health; don’t make any more mistakes and make it worse.”
In response Devdas merely smiled.
Chandramukhi said, “Another request—if you feel even a bit unwell, send for me.”
Devdas looked into her eyes and said, “I’ll do that, Bou.”
She touched his feet once more and ran away into the next room.
After leaving Calcutta, Devdas lived in Allahabad for some time. From there he wrote to Chandramukhi, “Bou, I had decided never to love again. For one thing, it is very painful to love and lose, and on top of that, falling in love again would be biggest folly, I think.”
But as the days passed, Devdas often wished that Chandramukhi could have been with him. The very next moment he’d back off apprehensively, “Oh no, that won’t be good- if Paro ever came to know of it…”
Thus it was Paro one day and Chandramukhi’s turn the next, presiding over his heart. Sometimes he had visions of both, side by side, as if he were the closest of friends. In his mind the two had become linked in the strangest of ways. Sometimes, late at night, the thought would come to him that both of them must have fallen asleep. At the very thought that they were unreachable, his heart felt bereft a lifeless discontentment echoed around it in vain.
Thereafter, Devdas traveled to Lahore. Chunilal was working there; he heard of his old friend’s arrival and came to meet him. After a long time, Devdas drank again. He thought of Chandramukhi, who had forbidden him to drink. He could see her –ever so bright, so calm and collected; she had so much love for him. Parvati had gone to sleep where he was concerned. She only flared up from time to time, like the wick of a lamp about to go out.
The climate here didn’t suit Devdas. He fell ill often and his stomach ached frequently. One day Dharmadas was almost in tears, “Deva, you are falling sick again. Let’s go somewhere else.”
Devdas answered distractedly, “Let’s go.” Usually Devdas didn’t drink at home. He did if Chunilal came over, but usually he went out of the house and drank. He came home late at night—and some nights he

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never came back. For the last two days there had been no sign of him. Weeping, Dharmadas refused to touch food or drink. On the third day Devdas came back home, his body burning with fever. He lay down and couldn’t get up again. Three or four doctors came and began to attend to him.
Dharamdas said, “Deva, let me write to Mother in Varanasi—”
Devdas stopped him hastily, “God forbid—how can I stand before Mother in this state?”
Dharamdas protested, “Anybody can fall sick; you shouldn’t keep it from your mother in these difficult times. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Deva, let’s go to Varanasi.”
Devdas turned away, “No Dharmadas, I can’t go to her like this. Let me get well, then we’ll go and visit her.”
For an instant Chandramukhi’s name came to Dharmada’s lips; but he hated her so much that he couldn’t bring himself to utter it.
Devdas also remembered her frequently. But he didn’t feel like talking about it. News hadn’t been sent out to his mother or to Chandrmaukhi; naturally, no one came over.
Devdas began to recover slowly over a period of time. One day he sat up in bed and said, “Dharamdas, come on, let’s go somewhere else now.”
He packed his things, bade Chunilal goodbye and returned to Allahahbad; he felt much better now. After some months, he asked, Dharma, can’t we go to a new place? I have never seen Bombay; shell we go there?”
He was so excited that Dharmadas agreed, though reluctantly. It was the month of May and Bombay wasn’t very hot. Devdas recovered some more after arriving there.
Dharmadasasked,can we back home now? Devdassaid”No, I’m doing fine. I want to stay here for some more time.”
A year passed. One morning in August Devdas came out of a hospital in Bombay, leaning on Dharmadas for support, and got into a buggy. Dharamdas said, “Deva, I suggest we go to Mother.”
Devdas’s eyes filled with tears; for the last few days, as he lay on the hospital bed, he had thought that he had everything and yet nothing. He had a mother, an elder brother, Paro who was more than a sister to him-and then there was Chandramukhi. He had everyone, but no one had him.
Dharmadas also wept. He asked. “So then Deva, are we going to Mother?”
Devdaslooke away and dashed away his tears. “No Dharamadas, I don’t feel like going before Mother like this—I don’t think the time has come.”
The aged Dharmadas howled in misery, “But Deva, your mother is still alive!”
They both understood just how much that statement revealed. Devdas really wasn’t doing too well. His liver was badly infected and he was racked with coughs and ran a frequent fever. The dark shadow of pain loomed over his face and his body was all bones. His eyes were sunken and shone with an unnatural brightness. His hair a rough and taut--- the strands of hair could almost be counted off. His fingers were repulsive, emaciated and marked by ugly sores.
At the station Dharamadas asked, “I shall buy tickets to go where Deva?”
Devdas considered this carefully and replied, “Let’s go home first; the rest can come later.”
They bought tickets for Hoonghlyand boarded the train.
Dharamdas stayed close to Devdas. Before dusk Devdas’s eyes stung and the fever had him in its grip again. He called Dharmadas and said,”Dharma, today I feel as if even getting home will be difficult.”
Dharmadas was scared, “Why, Deva?”
Devdas tried to smile and simply said, “I have fever again, Dharama,”
When they were passing Varanasi, Devdas was comatose with fever. He came to when they were close to Patna. “Oh no, Dharma, I suppose I wasn’t fated to see Mother,” he said.Dharamdas said, ‘Deva, lets get off at patna and see a doctor.’
Devdas answered, “No, let it be. Let’s just go home.”
It was the early hours of dawn when the train stopped at Pandua. It had rained all night. Devdas stood up. Dharamadas was fast sleep on the floor. Very softly Devdas touched his brow—he felt too shy to wake him. Then he opened the door and stepped outside. The train left, Dharmadas slept on peacefully.
Shivering, Devdas came out of the station. He beckoned to the coachman of a buggy and asked, “Hey there, could you take me to Hatipota village?”
He looked at Devdas, then looked around him and said, “No babu, the roads are no good. My horses can’t go all the way.”
Alarmed, Devdas asked. “Could I get a palanquin?”
The coachman said, “No, babu.”
The ground seemed to be slipping away from under his feet and Devdas sat down quickly. Wasn’t it meant to be then? His face mirrored his imminent death, there for all to see. The coachman took pity on him. “Babu, shall I get you to a bullock cart?”
Devdas asked, “How long will it take to reach there?”
“Roads are not good, Babu, perhaps a couple of days.”
Devdas calculated mentally, “Will I live a couple of days? But he had to go to Paro. His numerous taunts to her, all the mischief he had played on her came to mind. But he had to make his last promise to her come true. He didn’t have to long to go—that was the problem.
Sitting in the bullock car, he thought of his mother and the tears flowed. One more face, pure and innocent, floated into his consciousness—it was Chandramukhi’s. He had spurned her all his life—she led a life of sin, he had thought. Today, when her face took its pride of place beside his mother’s, his tears flowed like never before. He’d never see he again; she may not even get the news until much later. But still, he must visit Paro. He had promised to see her one last time. He felt it was promise he was bound to honour.
The roads were bad. The rainwater had collected in places and some parts of the road were in bad shape. The bullock cart clattered on slowly. At times the cart had to be pushed and at times the bullocks had to be thrashed mercilessly—but the sixteen-mile-long journey had to be completed somehow. The chilly wind blew relentlessly and after dusk Devdas’s fever came on again. Uneasily, he asked, “Coachman, how much longer?”
Another eight to ten miles, babu.”
“Make it quick, my friend. I’ll give you a very hefty tip.” He fished out a hundred –rupee note from his pocket and said, “I’ll give you a hundred –please hurry.”
Thereafter, Devdas had no inkling of how the night sped by and the miles were covered; he lay unconscious. When he came to in the morning he asked, “Hey there, how much longer? Will this ever end?”
The coachman didn’t understand, but he began to whip his bullocks and swear at them withvigour. The cart moved faster and faster as Devdas grew restless within. All he could think was, “Shall we meet? Will I reach?”
At noon the coachman stopped the cart and fed his bullocks, ate his own lunch and then resumed the journey. He asked, “Babu, won’t you eat something?”
“Oh, no, but I am very thirsty. Could I have some water?” The coachman fetched some water from a wayside pond. In the evening, shaking with the fever, Devdas had blood streaming from his nose. He grasped on to his nose for

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dear life. Then he realized his gums were bleeding too and he was having trouble breathing. Gasping for breath, he croaked, “How much more?”
The coachman replied, “About two more miles to go, babu. We should be there around ten in the night.”
With great difficulty Devdas raised his eyes to the road ahead and breathed, “Dear God.”
The coachman asked, “Babu why are you panting?”
Devdas couldn’t even answer.
The cart sped on, but instead of ten, it was almost midnight when it came to a stop under the huge peepul tree before the house of the Zamindar of Hatipota. The coachman called out, Babu, we’ve reached. Come down now.”
No answer came.
He called again, and still there was no answer.
He brought the lamp close to his passenger’s face apprehensively and asked, “Babu, are you sleeping?”
Devda’s eyes were open; his lips moved, but no sound came forth. The coachman called again, “Babu.”
Devdas wanted to raise his arms, but he couldn’t; two teardrops rolled down his cheeks.
The coachman had the presence of mind to lay a makeshift bed of hay on the stone platform that ran around the peepul tree. The he heaved and hoisted, and moved Devdas from the cart and onto the bed. There wasn’t a soul in sight; the zamindar’s house lay in deep slumber. Devdas struggled to take the hundred –rupee note from his pocket and handed it to the driver. By the light of the lantern the coachman saw that the babu stared at him, but was unable to speak. He guessed how critical his condition was and quietly tied the money into the end of his shawl. Devdas’s body was wrapped up in his shawl. The lantern burned bright and his new friend sat at his feet, lost in thought.
The first rays of dawn touched the sky. People from the zamindar household came out and saw a novel sight. A man lay dying under a tree—a gentleman, he had on a shawl, expensive shoes, rings on his fingers. One by one many people gathered around. Word reached Bhuvan-Babu soon. He sent for the doctor and came around himself. Devdas looked at each visitor in turn; he had lost his voice. He couldn’t say a word. Only the tears kept rolling down his cheeks. The coachman told them all that he knew, but it wasn’t much. The doctor came and pronounced, “Last moments—he’ll go any time now.”
Everyone said, “Poor soul”
Parvati heard about the dying man too, sitting in her room upstairs, and said, “Poor Soul.”
Someone took pity on him and poured a drop of water into his mouth, as was customary for the dying. Devdas looked at him piteously and then closed his eyes. He drew a few more tortured breaths and then it was all over.
There were debates over who would cremate him, who should be touching him, what caste he was etc. Bhuvan-babu sent word to the nearest police station. The inspector came and took a look: death by cirrhosis of the liver, blood on the nose and mouth. Two letters were found in his pocket. One was from DwijodasMukherjee of Talshonapur to Devdasof Bombay: “Its impossible to send any more money now.”
The second was from Harimati Devi in Varanasi, writing again to Devdas of Bombay: “How are you?’
On his left wrist the first letter of his name was tattoed. The inspector declared that the man was indeed Devdas.
A blue stone set in gold on his finger; worth apporimately a hundred and fifty rupees. An expensive but worn out shawl: approximately two hundred rupees. The inspector made a note of his clothes and all his belongings. Both Bhuvan-Babu and Mahendra were present there. When he heard the name Talshonapur, Mahendra said, “Mother’s home town—if she could take a look—”
His father brushed him aside, “Do you want her to come and identify the corpse now?”
The inspector laughed in agreement, “Question doesn’t arise.”
Although it was now established from the letters that it was a brahmin’s corpse, no one in the village wanted to touch it. So the pyre-burners (the lowest of the low castes) came and picked up the body. They did a hash job of burning it beside some god forsaken pond and threw the charred cadaver to one side; crows and vultures perched on it, and wolves snatched at it.
All those who heard about it said, “Poor Soul.” Even the maids and servants were full of it, “Poor man, decent family, rich too. Tow hundred rupee shawl, a hundred and fifty rupee ring, all now in the inspector’s custody—and the letters too.”
Parvati had heard the news in the morning, but because she couldn’t focus on anything for too long these days, she hadn’t really taken it all in. But since everyone could talk of little else all day long, Parvati called a maid to her room juts before dusk and asked, “What’s the matter? Who has died?”
The maid saidm “Oh dear, no one knows, Mother. It must’ve been fate that he came all this way to die here. He lay there in the damp and cold since last night and died only at around nine this morning.”
Parvati sighed and asked, “Did they find out who it was?”
The maid said, “Mahen-babu knows all about it; I don’t know much.”
She sent for Mahendra. He said, “Its DevdasMukherjee, from your village.”
Parvati came very close to him and looked at him sharply, “Who—? Dev-da? How do you know?”
“There were two letters in his pocket, Mother, one was from DwijodasMukherjee—”
Parvati broke in, “Yes, his elder brother.”
“The other was from harimati Devi of Varanasi—”
“Yes his mother.”
“His initial was tattooed on his wrist—”
Parvati said, “Yes, he got that done when he went to Calcutta for the first time—”
“There was a blue stone set in a ring—”
“His uncle gave that to him at the time of his thread-ceremony. I must go ” Parvati dashed down the stairs.
Stunned out of his wits, Mahendra said, “Mother, where are you going?”
“To Dev-da.”
“He isn’t there any more. They took him away.”
Oh no-dear God, help me,” Parvati sobbed as she ran. Mahendra darted forward and blocked her way, “Have you lost your mind, Mother—where will you go?”
Parvati stared at him down indignantly, “Mahen, do you really take me for a madwoman? Let me go.”
Mahendra looked at her eyes and moved aside, silently following in her wake. Parvati went outside. The officers and clerks were still at work and they looked surprised. Bhuvan-babu looked up over his glasses and asked, “Who’s there?”
Mahendra said, “Mother.”

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“What? Where’s she going?”
Mahendra said, “To see Devdas.”
BhuvanChowdhry screamed, “Have you all lost your collective minds—go, go and fetch her. She’s mad. Oh Mahen, oh Parvati.”
Then the maids and servants gathered around and caught Parvati as she fell in a faint; they took her into the house. The next day she regained consciousness, but didn’t speak a word. She just called one maid and asked, “He came in the night, didn’t he? All night long…”
And then she fell silent.
I have no idea what has happened of Parvati now, after so many years. Neither do I want to find out. But sometimes I do feel sorry for Devdas. After you’ve read this story, maybe you’ll feel the same way as I do. There is just one thing that I can say. If ever you happen to come across a hapless, unruly rascal like Devdas, please pray for his soul. Pray that, whatever happens, he shouldn’t meet with the kind of unfortunate death that Devdas did. Death is inevitable, but at the final moment at least one loving touch should brush his brow; one caring, yearning face should bid him goodbye forever--- he should die with the sight of one teardrop shed in his memory.

[Mohammad Sajid]

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