He lay down on the bed. His scorching pain turned into tears. ‘Ha! My life is ruined! I’m Gyanprakash’s enemy. For days, I have put up the pretence of love just to decimate his life. God! You alone are a witness to this!’
The next day another letter from Devapriya arrived. Satyaprakash tore it up. He did not have the courage to read the letter. One day later the third letter came and it met the same fate. Then it became a daily routine. A letter came and was torn, but Devapriya’s motive was achieved even without the letter being read. With every letter, Satyaprakash’s heart suffered another blow.
A month of severe heartfelt misery made Satyaprakash detest his life. He shut down his shop and stopped going anywhere. He spent all day in bed. He remembered the days when his mother would put him in her lap and call him ‘Son!’ His father also, after returning from office, would pick him up and call him ‘Child!’ His mother’s image would flash before his eyes, exactly like when she had gone for the dip in the Ganga. Her affectionate words would pour into his ears. Then he recalled the scene where he had addressed the new bride as ‘Mother’. He also recalled her cruel words, and her large, angry, frightening eyes would flash before his own. He would then recall his own sobs, followed by that scene in the maternity room when he had wanted to pick up the infant lovingly, only to be stopped by his stepmother’s lightning-sharp words, which still echoed in his ears! ‘Alas! That lightning annihilated me!’ He remembered the number of times she would scold him unreasonably and his father’s cruel and harsh treatment. His frequent rebukes and his belief in his wife’s false accusations. ‘Alas! My whole life has been destroyed!’ Then he would shift in his bed and the same scenes would once again flash before his eyes. ‘Why does this life not end?’
Several days passed in this manner. One day as dusk fell, he heard someone from outside his door. He strained his ears to listen and was startled. The voice belonged to someone familiar. He ran to the door and found Gyanprakash standing there. What a handsome man! Satyaprakash hugged him tightly. Gyanprakash touched his feet. The brothers then stepped into the house. Entering the dark room, Gyanprakash, who had so far controlled his flooding emotions, burst into tears upon seeing the squalor of the house. Satyaprakash lit the lamp. It was not a home but a den haunted by ghosts. Satyaprakash hurriedly put on a kurta. Gyanprakash saw his brother’s weakened body, jaundiced face and dim eyes, and continued to cry.
Satyaprakash said, ‘I keep ill these days.’
‘I can see that.’
‘You did not send news about your visit. How did you find the address?’
‘I had posted a letter. Maybe you didn’t receive it.’
‘Yes, you might have. The postman might have dropped it at the shop. I have not gone there for many days. Is all well at home?’
‘Mother died.’
‘What! Was she ill?’
‘No. We don’t know what she consumed. She had become somewhat hysterical. Father said some harsh words because of which she consumed something.’
‘Is father all right?’
‘Yes, not dead yet.’
‘What! Is he very ill?’
‘When mother consumed poison, he tried to give her some medicine by opening her mouth, but she bit two of his fingers really hard. So the poison entered his body as well. Since then his whole body has been swollen. He is lying in the hospital and tries to bite anyone he sees.’
‘That means our home has been completely ruined.’
‘A home like this should have been ruined long ago.’
On the morning of the third day, both brothers left Calcutta for ever.
Translated from the Hindi by Vikas Jain
Purification1
At last, the inevitable did come to pass. Having lost everything that he possessed, Lala Premnath realized that fidelity was a rare commodity in the market of love. Not much time had passed since he had been known as a dry abstinent among his friends. But one day he was persuaded by his friends to attend a musical gathering in a public house, and he lost his heart to the celibate-trapping deceptions of Husna Bi. For those inclined to pleasure, beauty and charm are the means of pleasing the heart. For the abstinent, these are tidings of martyrdom. In the five years that followed, Premnath surrendered all—wealth, respect, religion, conscience—to Husna Bi. Even lifelong idolatry for Husna would not have led to whispers, if only he had done it discreetly. But when has society tolerated the loud decadence of broad-minded men? People stopped visiting him. Relatives turned to strangers and avoided him. Tearfully, his mother tried to reason with him. His wife pleaded with him, and gave up eating. But Premnath had no place in his heart for anybody other than Husna—so much so that the helpless mother left for a long pilgrimage, and his wife, Gomati, returned to her maternal home. This made Premnath more wayward. He now kept the company of musicians and singers. It was as if the restrictions of religion, which had already been discarded, had now acquired wings and flew away. Now he shared food and drink with everyone. What is pleasure without company? With his rejection of caste, he also lost his Hinduness. And if he is not Hindu, it matters little whether he is considered a Muslim, a Christian or anything else.
And one day out of excitement, he even recited the kalma at Jama Masjid! He had no particular allegiance to Islam. His sentiments were Hindu, his thoughts remained Hindu, and even his relationships were Hindu. His sympathies were
