That same night, Mangru, without saying a word to anybody, went off somewhere, leaving Gaura behind. Gaura was sound asleep. How was she to know that her gem of a husband, whom she had got after so much patience and perseverance, was deserting her forever?3
Many years passed. There had been no news of Mangru at all. Not even a letter had arrived, yet Gaura was very happy. She would fill her hair parting with vermilion, wear colourful clothes and put layers of colour on her lips. Mangru had left behind an old book of bhajans. Occasionally she would read that book and sing. Mangru had taught her Hindi. She was able to read the bhajans, stumbling over the words.
Earlier she used to keep to herself. She would feel a sense of hesitation while talking to the other women of the village. She didn’t have that object on which the other women used to pride themselves. All of them discussed their husbands. And she didn’t have a husband then. Who could she talk about! Now she too had a husband. She too had the authority to talk on this subject to other women. She talked about Mangru—how affectionate, gentlemanly and brave he was. She could never have her fill of talking about her husband.
The women would ask, ‘Why did Mangru leave you?’
Gaura would say, ‘What could he do? Can a man lie around in his in-laws’ home? It is a man’s job to go off and earn some money. Otherwise how will he maintain his dignity?’
Whenever anybody asked why he didn’t write letters, she simply laughed and said, ‘He is afraid to tell me his address. He knows Gaura will descend upon him. To tell you the truth, if I could find out his address, I wouldn’t be able to bear living here even for a single day. It is a good thing that he is not sending me letters. How will the poor man manage home and hearth in a new land?’
One day a friend said, ‘We don’t believe you. You’ve definitely quarrelled with Mangru, otherwise he wouldn’t have left you without saying anything.’
Gaura answered with a laugh, ‘Behen, does one fight with one’s God? He is my master, why would I quarrel with him? If he ever fought with me, I would drown myself. Could he have gone after telling me? Wouldn’t I have clung to his legs?’4
One day a man came from Calcutta and stayed in Ganga’s house. He told them that he belonged to a neighbouring village. He lived in Mangru’s neighbourhood in Calcutta. Mangru had asked him to bring Gaura to him. He had sent two saris and some money for the journey as well. Gaura couldn’t contain her happiness. She agreed to go along with the old Brahmin. Before she left, she embraced all the women of the village. Ganga accompanied her till the station. Everybody said that Lady Luck had finally smiled on the poor girl. Otherwise she would have died of frustration.
On the way Gaura thought—I wonder what he must be like now. His moustache must have grown. Men are comfortable away from home. His body must have filled out. He must have become a babu sahib! I will not speak to him for the first two or three days. Then I will ask—why did you leave me? Even if somebody had spoken ill of me, why did you believe that? Why did you believe others instead of believing your own eyes? Whether I am good or bad, I am yours, why did you make me cry for so many days? If somebody had spoken about you in this manner, would I have left you? When you accepted me, you became mine. You may have millions of faults, for all I care. I can’t leave you even if you become a Turk. Why did you desert me? What did you think, running away is easy? At last you had to call me, didn’t you? How couldn’t you? I took pity on you which is why I’m coming back to you, otherwise I could have said, I won’t go to such a heartless man. Then you would have come running to me. With perseverance, one can even attain the gods! When they can come and stand in front of us, how could you not come? In her excited state she repeatedly asked the old Brahmin how far they were from their destination. ‘Does he live on the other end of the earth?’ She wanted to ask so many other questions but could not out of hesitation. She consoled herself by imagining what lay in store. He must have a large house since people live in pukka houses in towns. As he is on such good terms with his sahib, he must have a servant too. I will fire the servant. What will I do lying idle the whole day?
From time to time she missed her home too. Poor Amma must be crying. Now she will have to do all the household chores by herself. I wonder if she’s taking the goats to graze or not. Poor things must be bleating the whole day. I’ll send money for the goats every month. When I return from Calcutta, I will bring sarees for everyone. I will not return empty-handed then. I will have a lot of gifts with me. I will bring something or the other for everyone. By that time we’ll have lots of goats.
Gaura spent the entire journey daydreaming. How was the simple woman to know that her desires differed from what providence had in store for her? How was she to know that demons lurk even in the guise of old Brahmins? She was happily absorbed in building castles in the air.5
On the third day, the train reached Calcutta. Gaura’s heart started pounding. He must be standing somewhere nearby. He must be coming now. With this thought, she pulled the veil over her face and prepared herself. But
