Rupa lit the diya, opened the door of the dresser, arranged all the food on a plate and moved towards Kaki’s room.
It was past midnight. The sky looked like a huge plate of stars on which the angels were arranging heavenly offerings. But none of them could experience the supreme joy that Kaki felt when she saw the plate before her. Rupa said with a choked tone, ‘Kaki, get up. Have your meal. Please forgive me for my lapse today. Pray to God that He may forgive my crime.’
Like simple, innocent children who forget the chiding and beating of their mother the moment she gives them sweets, Kaki began to eat, oblivious of anything else. Every pore of her body exuded a blessing for Rupa who was lost in that moment of heavenly bliss.
Translated from the Hindi by M. Asaduddin
A Father’s Love1
Babu Chaitanya Das had studied economics in depth; he wasn’t just a student, but an ardent practitioner as well. He was a lawyer, he owned land in a few villages and he had some money saved in the bank as well. All of this was the result of that education in economics. Whenever he was faced with an expense, his mind would naturally wonder, Will either I or someone else profit from this? If neither stood to profit, he would mercilessly kill the purchase. ‘Waste’ was like poison to him. The principles of economics had become his life’s foundation.
Babu Sahib had two sons. The older was named Prabhu Das and the younger, Shiv Das. Both were in college. The two were only a year apart in school. Both were clever, handsome young men, but Prabhu Das received more of his father’s affection. He showed greater signs of success and his father had huge ambitions for him when he was born. He wanted to send him to England for higher education. His biggest wish was to make him a lawyer.2
But it just so happened that after his BA exams, Prabhu Das began running a fever. He was started on medication that the doctor had ordered. For a month, various doctors came by, but his fever still didn’t subside. He began treatment with another doctor, but that too had no effect. Day by day, Prabhu Das grew emaciated. He didn’t have the strength to get out of bed. So much so that even when he heard the good news that he had passed his exams first class, there wasn’t even the slightest trace of joy on his face. Each day, he was drowning further in worry. Living began to feel burdensome. One day, Chaitanya Das asked the doctor, ‘Why is it that two months have passed and the medicines still have had no effect?’
The doctor replied apprehensively, ‘I don’t mean to make you anxious. I suspect that he has tuberculosis.’
Frantically, Chaitanya Das said, ‘Tuberculosis?’
‘Yes, sir, he has all the symptoms.’
In disbelief, as if he had just heard something shocking, Chaitanya Das said, ‘He has tuberculosis!’
Consolingly, the doctor said, ‘The disease infects the body very surreptitiously.’
‘But no one in my family had this illness.’
‘It’s possible that he caught the germ from his friends.’
After thinking for a few minutes, Chaitanya Das said, ‘What should we do now?’
‘Continue his course of medicine. It hasn’t reached his lungs yet. There’s hope that he’ll get better.’
‘How long do you think it will take for the medicine to have effect?’
‘I can’t say for certain, but he should be better in three or four months. The fever tends to go down in the winter.’
‘After he gets better, will he be able to continue his studies?’
‘There is a slim chance that he will be able to exert himself mentally.’
‘What if we send him to a sanatorium?’
‘That would be best.’
‘And then will he be completely healthy?’
‘It’s possible, but in order to keep his fever down, he needs to avoid any mental exertion.’
Chaitanya Das said dejectedly, ‘That means his entire life is ruined.’3
The summer was over. The rains were coming. Prabhu Das’s condition worsened each day. Lying in bed, he would read what famous doctors had written about this disease. He would compare his condition to their descriptions. For the first several days, his health remained unstable. His condition would improve and he would start reading books and talking about his plans for foreign travel, but then when his fever intensified, he would lose all interest in life. But after a few months, when he realized that it would be difficult to overcome this illness, he decided to stop worrying about life. He stopped caring about his daily routine and avoided looking his family members in the eye. He didn’t bother to follow the prescribed diet and even threw away the medicine when no one was looking. He would sit with his friends to raise his spirits. If anyone asked him something about his health, he would get irritated and turn away. His disposition acquired a melancholic resignation and a philosophical disposition. He fearlessly critiqued tradition and social custom. Even though Chaitanya Das was constantly worried that if the outcome was certain, then what was the point in wasting money, he still patiently kept on providing for his medicine, partly out of love for his son and partly out of fear of social stigma.
It was winter. Chaitanya Das sat at the head of his son’s bed and looked over at the doctor questioningly. When the doctor sat
