Chapter 5

Parvati had entered her thirteenth year—or so her grandmother said. It is at this age that physical beauty seems suddenly to break forth from nowhere, casting its bloom over a young girl’s entire form. Her family members are startled one day to discover that their little girl has grown up. Thereupon, a great flurry begins to settle her in marriage. For the past few days, this very topic had been under discussion in the Chakraborty household. Parvati’s mother was deeply melancholy; on every pretext she would murmur to her husband, "Indeed, we can keep Paru at home no longer." They were not wealthy people, but their sole hope lay in the girl’s extraordinary beauty. If beauty retained any value in this world, one need not worry for Parvati. There was, however, another matter—it may as well be stated right here. Hitherto, the Chakraborty family had never needed to worry over a daughter’s marriage, but rather over a son’s. For a daughter’s wedding, they accepted a bride-price, and for a son’s, they paid a dowry to bring a bride home. Nilkantha’s father, too, had taken money for his daughter’s marriage. But Nilkantha himself detested the custom. He had no wish whatever to gain wealth by selling Parvati. Parvati’s mother knew this, which was why she kept pressing her husband regarding their daughter. Earlier, Parvati’s mother had harboured a foolish, secret hope in her heart—she had wondered whether, by some means, her daughter might be married to Devdas. It had not seemed an entirely impossible dream. She thought that if Devdas were appealed to, some solution might be found. That was why Nilkantha’s mother had, in the course of casual conversation with Devdas’s mother, broached the matter thus: "Ah, Bouma, what devotion there is between Devdas and my Paru! Why, one hardly sees the like anywhere!"

Devdas’s mother replied, "And why shouldn't it be so, Khuri? The two of them have grown up together just like brother and sister."

"Yes, Ma, yes—that is why I feel, if between the two of them... Just look, Bouma, when Devdas went off to Calcutta, the poor dear was barely eight years old; even at that age she grew pale and thin with missing him. Whenever a letter arrived from Devdas, it became like a sacred rosary to her. We all know that well enough!"

Devdas’s mother understood everything in her heart. She smiled faintly. How much mockery lay hidden behind that smile I cannot say, but there was a great deal of pain in it. She too knew all that had passed, and she was fond of Parvati as well. But a girl from a family that buys and sells brides! And on top of that, relatives living right next door! For shame! She said, "Khuri, Karta has no desire at all to marry Devdas off at such a young age, especially while he is studying. Why, even now Karta tells me: 'What a disaster you wrought by marrying off our eldest son, Dwijadas, in his boyhood! His education was completely ruined.'"

Parvati’s grandmother was utterly abashed. Yet she said, "I know all that, Bouma, but what can I say—Paru, bless her, has grown up a bit, and she has such a blossoming figure, so—so—if Narayan is willing..."

Devdas’s mother cut her off, saying, "No, Khuri, I cannot mention this to him. If I bring up Devdas’s marriage at a time like this, would he even look at my face again?"

The matter was dropped then and there. But a woman cannot keep a secret for long. When her husband sat down for his meal, Devdas’s mother brought up the subject and said, "Paru’s grandmother was speaking of her marriage today."

The master of the house looked up and said, "Yes, Paru has come of age; it is high time she was married."

"That is why she brought it up today. She said, if with Devdas..."

Her husband knit his brows. "What did you say?"

"What could I say? The two are very fond of each other; but for all that, could I bring home a daughter of the Chakrabortys, a family that buys and sells brides? And relatives right next door at that—for shame!"

The master was pleased. He said, "Precisely. Am I to make our lineage a laughingstock? Do not pay any mind to such talk."

The mistress offered a dry smile and said, "No—I pay no mind; but mind that you do not forget either."

The master lifted a morsel of rice with a grave face and said, "Else this great estate of ours would have vanished into thin air long ago!"

Let his estate endure forever; no one objects to that. But let me speak of Parvati’s sorrow. When this proposal was flatly rejected and reached Nilkantha’s ears, he called his mother and chided her, "Ma, why did you go and say such a thing?"

His mother remained silent.

Nilkantha continued, "We do not have to beg at anyone’s feet to marry off our daughter; rather, many will fall at my feet. My daughter is no sight to recoil from. Mark my words—within a week I shall settle a match. What is there to worry about a wedding?"

Yet the girl for whose sake her father uttered these grandiose words felt as though a thunderbolt had struck her head. From childhood she had held the belief that she possessed a certain claim over Devdada. Not that anyone had handed her this right. At first she herself had understood nothing clearly; imperceptibly, her restless mind had day by day established this claim so silently, yet so firmly, that although its outer form had not caught her eye all these years, today, at the mere mention of losing it, a terrible storm began to rage within her heart.

But the same could not quite be said of Devdas. In his boyhood, when he held sway over Parvati, he had relished it to the full. But after going to Calcutta, amidst the excitement of work and other pleasures, he had largely let go of Parvati. Yet he did not know that within her monotonous village existence, Parvati had done nothing day and night but meditate upon him alone. Nor was that all. She had believed that what she had known as her very own since childhood, upon whom she had exercised every whim, right or wrong, would not suddenly slip away from her as she stepped onto the threshold of youth. But who had thought of marriage then? Who knew that the bond of adolescence could by no means be preserved forever without marriage? The news that 'marriage is impossible' began to tear at all the hopes and longings of Parvati’s heart, as if trying to rip them out of her chest. But Devdas had to study in the morning; at noon it was too hot to step outside; only in the evening, if he wished, could he go out for a while.

It was at this time of day that he would sometimes put on his fine clothes, slip into good shoes, take a walking stick in hand, and set out for the fields. On his way he would pass by the Chakrabortys' house—and Parvati, wiping her eyes at the upstairs window, would watch him go. So many memories rushed back. She remembered that they had both grown up; after a long absence, they now felt an immense shyness before each other, like strangers. Devdas had walked right past the other day; he had felt self-conscious, and so could not even speak properly. None of this was lost on Parvati.

Devdas thought in much the same way. Now and then he wished to speak with her, to look at her closely; but immediately he would think—would that look proper?

Here there was none of the bustle of Calcutta, no amusements, no theatres, no music—and so he kept remembering his childhood. He remembered how that Parvati had become this Parvati! And Parvati thought how that Devdas had now become this Devdas-babu! Devdas rarely visited the Chakrabortys' house now. If on some evening he did stand in the courtyard and call out, "Khuri-ma, what are you up to?"

Khuri-ma would say, "Come in, son, sit down."

Devdas would at once reply, "No, never mind, Khuri-ma, I’ll just take a stroll."

At such times Parvati would sometimes be upstairs, sometimes happen to be right before him. Devdas would speak with Khuri-ma, while Parvati would slowly slip away. At night, a light burned in Devdas’s room. Through her open summer window, Parvati would gaze in that direction for a long time—though nothing else could be seen. Parvati had always been proud and sensitive. That she was suffering such anguish—that no one should suspect it even in the slightest—was her earnest, constant effort. And what good would come of making it known anyway?

Sympathy she could not endure; and reproach and disgrace?—death was preferable to that. Manorama had been married the previous year. She had not yet gone to her in-laws' home, and so would come by to visit from time to time. Formerly, the two friends would talk of these things together, and they still did; but Parvati no longer joined in—she either stayed silent or turned the conversation away.

Parvati’s father had returned home the previous night. For the past few days he had been away to settle on a groom. Now he had come home with the entire marriage finalized. The groom was a zamindar from Hatipota village in Burdwan district, some twenty or twenty-five kros away. His circumstances were prosperous, his age under forty—his wife had passed away the previous year, which was why he was marrying again. The news had not gladdened the hearts of everyone in the house; rather, it was a source of sorrow; yet there was one consideration: in all, nearly two to three thousand rupees would enter the household from Bhuvan Chowdhury. And so the women kept silent.

One afternoon, Devdas was sitting down to his meal. His mother sat nearby and said, "Paru is getting married, you know."

Devdas looked up and asked, "When?"

"This very month. Yesterday they came to see the bride. The groom came himself."

Devdas was somewhat surprised. "Why, I knew nothing of this, Ma!"

"How should you know? The groom is marrying for the second time—he is advanced in years; but they say he has plenty of money, so Paru will be able to live in comfort and ease."

Devdas lowered his head and continued eating. His mother spoke again, "They wished to have the wedding in this house."

Devdas looked up. "And then?"

His mother smiled—"Shame! How could that be? A low family that buys and sells brides, and on top of that a marriage right next door—for shame!" she said, curling her lip. Devdas saw it.

After remaining silent for a while, his mother spoke again, "I mentioned it to Karta."

Devdas looked up and asked, "What did Father say?"

"What could he say? He cannot let our illustrious family become a laughingstock—so he made that plain to me."

Devdas said no more.

That afternoon, Manorama and Parvati were talking together. There were tears in Parvati’s eyes—Manorama had likely just wiped them away. Manorama said, "What is the way out then, sister?"

Wiping her eyes, Parvati said, "What way out can there be? Did you choose your groom when you married?"

"My case is different. I neither liked nor disliked him; so I suffer no pain at all. But you have brought the axe down on your own foot, sister!"

Parvati did not answer; she fell into thought.

Manorama thought for a moment and said with a faint smile, "Paru, how old is the groom?"

"Whose groom?"

"Yours."

Parvati calculated for a moment and said, "Nineteen, I suppose."

Manorama was exceedingly astonished. She said, "What do you mean? Why, I heard he was nearly forty!"

Now Parvati too smiled faintly; she said, "Mano-didi, how many men are forty years old—do I keep count of them all? All I know is that my groom’s age is nineteen or twenty."

Looking into her face, Manorama asked, "What is his name?"

Parvati burst into laughter again—"Do you mean to say you don't even know that after all this time?"

"How should I know!"

"You don't know? Very well, let me tell you." Smiling a little, then turning solemn, Parvati brought her face close to Manorama's ear and whispered, "Don't you know?—Sri Devdas—"

At first Manorama was startled. Then pushing her away, she said, "No more of your jokes. Tell me his real name right now, before you can't tell me anymore—"

"I just did."

Manorama said crossly, "If his name is Devdas—then why are you weeping your heart out?"

Parvati’s face suddenly grew dark. Thinking for a moment, she said, "That is true. I shall cry no more—"

"Paru."

"What is it?"

"Tell me everything openly, sister! I cannot understand a single thing."

Parvati said, "I have told you all there is to say."

"But nothing makes any sense!"

"Nor will it," Parvati said, turning her face away.

Manorama thought Parvati was concealing things, that she had no desire to share her inner thoughts. Feeling deeply hurt, she said sorrowfully, "Paru, whatever brings you grief brings me grief too, sister. That you should be happy is my heart's true prayer. If you have secrets you do not wish to tell me, then do not tell. But do not mock me like this."

Parvati too felt sorry; she said, "I am not joking, Didi. As far as I know myself, I have told you. I know that my husband's name is Devdas; his age is nineteen or twenty—that is what I told you."

"But I heard your match has been settled somewhere else!"

"Settled indeed! It isn't Grandmother who is to be married—if anyone is to be married, it is I; and how is it that I have heard no such news?"

Manorama started to recount what she had heard. Parvati interrupted her, saying, "I have heard all that."

"What then? Will Devdas to you..."

"Will Devdas what to me?"

Suppressing a smile, Manorama said, "So you mean to choose your own husband then? Has a firm arrangement been made in secret?"

"Nothing firm or fragile has been made yet."

Manorama said in a pained voice, "What are you saying, Paru? I cannot understand anything."

Parvati said, "Then I shall ask Devdas and explain it to you."

"What will you ask him? Whether he will marry you or not—is that it?"

Parvati nodded and said, "Yes, that."

Manorama was tremendously astonished and said, "What are you saying, Paru? Will you ask him this yourself?"

"What is the harm, Didi?"

Manorama was completely dumbfounded—"What are you saying, girl? Yourself?"

"Myself. Who else is there to ask on my behalf, Didi?"

"Won't you feel ashamed?"

"Shame for what? Was I ashamed to tell you?"

"I am a woman—your companion—but he is a man, Paru!"

Now Parvati burst into laughter; she said, "You are my friend, you are my own—but is he a stranger? What I can say to you, can that not be said to him?"

Manorama stared at her face in utter amazement.

With a smile on her face, Parvati said, "Mano-didi, you wear vermilion on your forehead for nothing. You do not even know what a husband is. If he were not my husband, if he were not beyond all my shame and modesty, I would not be driven to die like this. Besides, Didi, when a person is about to die, do they stop to consider whether the poison is bitter or sweet? Before him I have no shame."

Manorama kept gazing at her face. After a moment she said, "What will you say to him? Will you ask him to give you a place at his feet?"

Parvati nodded her head and said, "That is exactly what I shall say, Didi."

"And if he does not give you that place?"

This time Parvati remained silent for a long time. Then she said, "I do not know about that moment, Didi."

On her way home, Manorama thought: What courage! What fortitude! Even if I were dying, I could never bring such words to my lips.

It was true. That was why Parvati had said—these women wear vermilion on their foreheads and iron bangles on their wrists to no purpose!