Let me go and tell my father. He’ll be sad for a few days, Ammaji will give up food for one or two days out of shock, but let that be. It’s no small matter if a woman’s life is saved at the cost of my parents’ afflictions for a short while.
It was ten in the night. Babu Darbarilal was lying on the cot, smoking his hookah. Today, he had spent his entire day running from one place to another. He had reserved the tents, paid an advance to the bandwalas and arranged for the fireworks. He had also negotiated with the Brahmins for hours. Right now, he had just stretched himself out to rest when he got startled seeing Hazarilal before him. He looked at his son’s fallen face, his tearful eyes and his pale expression and said, somewhat worried, ‘Why Lalu, are you all right? You look a bit sad.’
‘I want to say something to you; but I’m afraid lest you get displeased.’
‘Oh, now I understand. It’s that same old thing, isn’t it? If you have something else to say, then go ahead.’
‘I’m afraid that’s the only matter I want to talk about.’
‘So it is the old rant—don’t bind me in this bond, I’m unworthy of it. I can’t bear this burden. The fetters will snap my neck and so on and so forth? Is there anything new?’
‘Oh yes. It’s something new. I’m willing to carry out your order by all means. But there is something that I have concealed from you until now. I want to make a clean breast of it. After that, whatever you decide, I’ll carry it out with utmost obedience.’
Hazarilal revealed the facts with utmost humility. He also gave an account of the doctor’s opinion and said at last, ‘I’m sure you won’t compel me to marry in such a situation.’
Darbarilal looked intently at his son’s face. There was no yellowish tinge on it. He couldn’t believe his son’s account. But he pretended to remain absorbed in deep thought so that he could conceal his distrust and express his heartfelt sorrow. He said in a pained voice, ‘Son, it’s all the more necessary to marry then. God forbid that we should live to see that unfortunate day. But if you marry, at least there will be someone to continue your family line. If God blesses you with a child, he’ll be the sole support of our old age. We’ll console our hearts by repeatedly looking at his face. At least there’ll be some purpose to our lives. Then who can say what may happen next? It isn’t as if the doctors know about anyone’s destiny. God’s powers are infinite. Doctors can’t comprehend it. You just relax and let us do what we are doing. If God wills, everything will turn out to be all right.’
Hazarilal didn’t reply. His eyes became moist and his voice choked. He returned to his room and lay down quietly.
Three more days passed by. But Hazarilal couldn’t take a decision. All the arrangements for the wedding had been made. The mandap had been erected in the courtyard. The gift baskets and the jewels had been kept in the chests. The matri puja ceremony had been concluded and the musical instruments created an uproar at the doorstep. The neighbourhood gathered around, listening to the instruments and running helter-skelter in joy.
Evening had fallen. The marriage party was to leave by the night train. The baraatis started putting on their clothes and jewels. Someone would get his hair trimmed by the barber and wish that his beard were shaved in such a way that there were no bristles anywhere. The old men would get their grey hairs plucked out in an attempt to look young. Soaps, oils and cosmetics were used profusely. Hazarilal was standing forlornly under a tree in the orchard and wondering what to do.
He had to take a decision now. He couldn’t delay even a moment. There was no one with whom he could share his pains.
He thought of how short-sighted parents could be. They were swept away by their own desires. They didn’t even think about what would happen to the daughter-in-law. Her parents too were blinded by their own compulsions and they failed to see what was inevitable, pretended that it didn’t matter.
Is it a marriage? By no means. It’s like pushing the daughter into a well, throwing her into a bonfire or stabbing her with a blunt knife. No suffering could be as unbearable and heartrending as that of widowhood, and these people are throwing their daughter into this fire knowingly. Is this behaviour worthy of one’s parents? By no means. They are the enemies of their daughter. They are butchers and murderers. Is there no punishment for them? Is there no punishment for those who stain their hands with the blood of their dear children? The society doesn’t give them any punishment, no one tells them anything. Alas!
Hazarilal got up and left the place quietly. A peculiar pallor had overcast his face. He decided to put an end to this dilemma by sacrificing his life. He had no fear of death. He had reached the stage where all longings find their fruition in death.
No one saw Hazarilal after that. No one knew if it was the earth that swallowed him or the sky. Nets were cast in the rivers, wells were poked with long bamboo poles, his physical description was sent to the police, advertisements were brought out in newspapers, but all in vain.
After several weeks,
