The sahib couldn’t control himself now. In a drunken state, the current of guilt flows as naturally as that of anger. Covering his face with both his hands, he started crying and he cried so much that he began to sob. He went and stood in front of his mother’s photo for some time, as if asking her forgiveness. Then he said in a choked voice, ‘How can my mother find peace now! Oh my God! She can’t find happiness even in heaven because of me. How unfortunate am I!’
‘In a little while, you will change your mind and you will begin your cruelties again.’
‘No, no, I will not cause Mamma any unhappiness again. I will send Mangru to the hospital immediately.’9
Mangru was sent to the hospital the same night. The agent took him there himself. Gaura accompanied him. Mangru was feverish and lay unconscious for a long time.
Mangru didn’t open his eyes for three days. Gaura sat next to him all that time. She didn’t move from his side even for a moment. The agent came many times to inquire about his condition and each time he apologized to Gaura.
On the fourth day, Mangru opened his eyes, and saw that Gaura was sitting in front of him. When she saw him open his eyes, Gaura went and stood near him and asked, ‘How do you feel now?’
Mangru said, ‘When did you come here?’
‘I came here with you, I have been here ever since.’
‘Is there no place for you in the sahib’s bungalow?’
‘If I had desired bungalows, would I have crossed the seven seas to be with you?’
‘So what happiness have you given me by coming here? If you had to stay with him, why didn’t you let me die?’
Gaura answered him irritably, ‘Don’t talk like this to me. Such things set my body on fire.’
Mangru turned his face away, as if he didn’t believe Gaura’s words.
The whole day Gaura stood next to him without a morsel of food or a drop of water. Gaura called out to him many times, but he remained silent. This insult, tinged with the suspicion, was intolerable for the gentle-hearted Gaura. How could she live without the love of the man whom she treated as God? This love was the foundation of her life. Having lost that, she had lost everything.
It was well past midnight. Mangru was fast asleep, oblivious to everything; perhaps he was dreaming. Gaura touched his feet with her forehead and left the hospital. Mangru had rejected her. She would reject him too.
A furlong east of the hospital flowed a small river. Gaura went and stood on its bank. A few days ago, she had been living comfortably in the village. How could she have known that what was attained with so much difficulty could be lost so easily? She remembered her mother, her home, her friends and her goats’ little kids. Did she leave all that for this? The words of her husband—‘Is there no place for you in the sahib’s bungalow?’—had pierced her tender inner core like arrows. ‘All this happened because of me. If I hadn’t come here, he could have continued living comfortably.’ Suddenly she remembered the Brahmin woman. How would that poor creature pass her days here? Let me tell the sahib that she should either be sent home or be given a job in a school.
Gaura was about to return when somebody called, ‘Gaura! Gaura!’
It was Mangru’s voice, trembling with emotion. She stood quietly. Mangru called again,‘Gaura! Gaura!! Where are you? For God’s sake . . .’
Gaura heard no more. She jumped into the river. She couldn’t put an end to her master’s troubles without ending her life.
Hearing the sound of the splash, Mangru too plunged into the river. He was a good swimmer! But even after diving many times, he couldn’t find her.
In the morning, both their bodies were found floating side by side in the river. In the journey of life, they had never been united. In the journey to heaven, they were travelling together.
Translated by Preeti G. Dewan
Laila1
No one knew who Laila was, where she came from or what she did. One day people saw a peerless beauty at the main square in Tehran swaying to the Hafiz ghazal that she sang, accompanied by her tambourine:
Those who surrender to material pleasures care not about people nor are their souls stirred,
Hence they have no attachments, nor any desires, as they are cut off from the real world
And all of Tehran was enamoured by her. This was Laila.
To imagine Laila’s beautiful form think of the blushing crimson of dawn when the blue sky is tinted with a golden glow; think of the spring when flowers of all hues blossom in the gardens and bulbuls sing.
To imagine Laila’s beautiful voice think of the constant peal of those bells
