Chapter 3

Day after day passed—there was no limit to the merriment of these two children. All day long they roamed about in the blazing sun; they returned at dusk to receive their beatings, only to run away again the very next morning—and suffer scoldings and thrashings all over again. At night they slept in peaceful abandon; when morning came, they were off once more, wandering and playing. They had few other companions, nor did they need any. The two of them were quite enough to wreak havoc and torment the entire neighbourhood. On this particular day, shortly after sunrise, the two had gone down to the embankment. At noon, with their eyes bloodshot from the glare and the water thoroughly muddied, they returned home having caught fifteen small puti fish, which they divided between themselves according to merit. Parvati's mother gave her daughter a sound thrashing and locked her in her room. I do not know exactly what happened to Devdas, for he would never divulge such tales. But while Parvati sat in her room weeping bitterly, sometime around two or half-past two, he came to the window and called out in the softest of whispers, "Paru, oh Paru!" Parvati most likely heard him, but out of sheer pique, she gave no reply. After that, he spent the entire day sitting in a nearby champa tree, and it was only after dusk, and with great effort, that Dharmadas finally managed to coax him down.

But that was only for one day. The following morning, Parvati waited eagerly for her Dev-da, but Devdas did not come—he had gone with his father to a neighbouring village to attend an invitation. When Devdas failed to appear, Parvati stepped out of the house alone, her heart heavy with disappointment. Yesterday, before going down to the embankment, Devdas had given her three rupees to hold on to, lest he lose them. Those three rupees were still tied in the corner of her sari. Swinging the edge of her sari, spinning round and round, she passed a long time all by herself. She found no playmates, for the village school was in session that morning. Parvati then made her way to the other neighbourhood. Manorama's house was there. Manorama attended school and was somewhat older, but she was Paru's friend. They had not seen each other for many days.

Finding the time today, Parvati entered their house in the other neighbourhood and called out, "Mano—are you home?"

Manorama's aunt came out.

"Paru?"

"Yes—where is Mano, Pishima?"

"She has gone to school—haven't you gone?"

"I haven't gone to school—Dev-da doesn't go either."

Manorama's aunt smiled and said, "Well, that is good! You don't go, and your Dev-dada doesn't go either?"

"No. Neither of us goes."

"That is well and good; but Mano has gone to school."

Her aunt asked her to sit, but Parvati turned back. On the way, near Rasik Pal's shop, three Vaishnavi mendicants, adorned with sandal-paste marks and holding cymbals, were going about asking for alms. Parvati called out to them and said, "O Boistomis! Do you know how to sing?"

One of them turned to look at her. "Of course we do, child!"

"Then sing for me."

At this, all three turned and stood still. One of them said, "We don't sing just like that, little mother, you must give us alms. Come, let us go to your house and sing."

"No, sing right here."

"But you must pay us coins, little mother!"

Parvati showed the edge of her sari and said, "I have no coins—I have rupees."

Seeing the silver rupees tied in her sari, they moved a little away from the shop and sat down. Then, playing their cymbals, the three blended their voices and began to sing. What they sang, or what it meant—Parvati understood none of it. Even if she had wanted to, she might not have understood. But in that very instant, her heart had flown away to her Dev-dada.

Finishing their song, they said, "Well then, give us whatever alms you promised, little mother!"

Parvati untied the knot in her sari and placed the three rupees into their hands. Astounded, all three stared at her face for a long time.

One of them asked, "Whose money is this, child?"

"Dev-dada's."

"Won't he beat you?"

Parvati thought for a moment and said, "No."

One of them said, "May you live long, little mother!"

Parvati smiled and said, "It divides up perfectly among the three of you, doesn't it?"

All three nodded and replied, "Indeed it does. May Goddess Radharani bless you." With that, they gave her their heartfelt blessings, praying that this generous little girl might not suffer any punishment. Parvati returned home quite early that day. The very next morning she met Devdas. He held a kite-spool in his hand—though there was no kite; he needed to buy one. Finding Parvati near, he said, "Paru, give me the money."

Parvati's face went pale. She said, "I don't have the money!"

"What happened to it?"

"I gave it to the Boistomis. They sang a song."

"You gave them all of it?"

"All of it. There were three rupees, after all."

"You silly donkey, do you have to give away everything?"

"Well! There were three of them! If I didn't give three rupees, how would they divide it evenly?"

Devdas looked grave and said, "If it were me, I would have given two rupees." With the handle of his kite-spool he scratched lines into the dirt and continued, "In that case, they would have each received ten annas, thirteen gandas, one kara, and one kranti."

Parvati thought about this and said, "Do they know how to do sums like you?"

Devdas had studied arithmetic up to calculating weights in maunds; pleased by Parvati's remark, he replied, "That's true!"

Parvati took Devdas by the hand and said, "I thought you would beat me, Dev-da."

Devdas was surprised. "Why would I beat you?"

"The Boistomis said you would beat me."

Hearing this, Devdas was immensely pleased. Leaning heavily on Parvati's shoulder, he said, "Nonsense—do I ever beat you unless you've done something wrong?"

Devdas evidently decided that this particular act of Parvati's did not fall foul of his penal code, since the three women had been able to divide the three rupees so neatly. Moreover, to give only two rupees instead of three to Boistomis who had never learned to calculate maunds at school would have been something of a cruelty. Afterwards, taking Parvati by the hand, he set off towards the small market to buy a kite—hiding his spool right there in a bush.