The Complete Short Stories

word husband embodies all that is best in a man: ideal, noble, good-looking. When this living image of such a virtuous husband comes into the mind of a young woman, it assumes a life of its own. But for me what does this word symbolize? A spike that comes and penetrates my being, the thorn that perpetually pricks my heart, a piece of grit that irritates my eyes, the penetrating innuendo that pierces the insides of my soul! Sushila is always laughing. She never complains about her poverty. She has no ornaments, no clothes—she only has a small rented house and she does the entire domestic work herself; still I never see her crying. If I could, I would have exchanged all my wealth with her poverty. When she sees her husband returning home with a smile, all her sorrow and misery disappear as if by magic, and her mind is filled with happiness. The joy, the bliss that emanates from an embrace of love . . . I could give away the wealth of all the three worlds for this one drop of love.3

Today I could not control myself. I asked him—what made him marry me? This question had been disturbing me for months but I had so far restrained myself. Today the container overflowed. He got really flustered by my question and, trying to distract me, put on a grin and replied, ‘To manage the household, to take on the household responsibilities . . . what else, for sex and lust? Without a woman this house seemed like the dwelling of ghosts. The servants used to squander away the wealth of the house. Things remained unattended wherever they lay. There was nobody to take care of them.’ So now I realized that I had been brought here to look after the house as a watchman. I must guard this house and feel privileged about owning all this wealth. The main thing is the wealth; I am merely its watchdog. May this house catch fire today itself. Till now I used to look after this house unwittingly, perhaps not as much as he expected but at least as much as my own discretion guided me. But from today onwards I take a vow that I will never touch anything on any account. I know very well that no man marries to merely procure a guard for his house and this gentleman had uttered these words to spite me. Sushila is right, without a woman he must have found his house desolate, just as one finds a cage desolate without a bird. This is the fate of us women!4

I do not know why he suspects me so much. Ever since destiny has brought me to this house I have seen him casting glances full of aspersions towards me. What is the reason? If I get my hair braided he is annoyed. I do not go anywhere, and I do not visit anyone . . . still so much suspicion! This humiliation is unbearable. Do I have no value for my honour? Why does he consider me to be so frivolous, doesn’t he feel ashamed of doubting me? When a one-eyed man sees people laughing, he invariably believes they are laughing at him. Perhaps he too has developed this delusion that I am deliberately mocking him all the time. Often when we trespass our limits this is precisely the condition of our mind. A beggar cannot sleep peacefully sitting on the throne of a king. He will only see enemies all around him. I feel this is the condition of all those old men who marry young women.

Today on Sushila’s insistence I was going to see Thakurji’s janki. Now a man with reasonable intelligence can understand that dressing up like an uncouth person will only make me a laughing stock. But God knows from where at that very moment you landed up and asked me reproachfully, ‘Where are you off to?’

‘I am going to see Thakurji’s janki,’ I told him. He frowned and retorted, ‘There is no need for you to go anywhere. The woman who has not served her husband will only accumulate sin instead of blessings by worshipping the deity. You are trying to fool me. I know you women very well.

I was furious. What could I say? At that very moment I changed my clothes and vowed that from now on I would never go for darshan. Is there no limit to this suspicion? I don’t know why I stayed back. The right answer to his attitude would have been to walk out of the house at that very instant, and then seen what he would have done to me!

He is surprised to see me sad and unhappy. In his heart he considers me ungrateful; he thinks he has bestowed a great favour on me by marrying me. Being the owner of such a huge property and such tremendous wealth I should have been excessively happy and I should have sung his praises throughout the day. But instead of singing his praises I look morose. Sometimes I feel pity for him. He cannot understand that lack of love can totally wreck a woman’s life.5

For the last three days he has been sick. Doctors say there is no hope of his surviving—he has pneumonia. But I do not know why I feel no sorrow for him. I was never so hard-hearted. God knows where my tenderness has disappeared. At the very sight of a sick person my heart would melt with compassion. I couldn’t bear to hear anyone cry. And now even though I’ve been hearing him groan in the room next to mine for the past three days, forget tears welling in my eyes, I have not been to see him even once. I feel that I do not have any connection with him. People may call me a witch or a whore but I have not the slightest shame in stating that I am feeling a strange