Didi Nirupama Devi: Free Read | Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It was a winter afternoon. The bare branches of frost damaged trees were soaking up the warmth of a blissfully sunny and cloudless day, somewhat rare for the season.
There was a wood next to the village through which a narrow path—lit by sunlight filtered through the criss-crossing leaves and branches of trees—coursed, looking like a smile
on a frail face. A spotted dove called plaintively from within a bamboo bush. On a high branch of a lemon tree, a pair of wild pigeons debated with each other, voicing their opinions with alternating high and low pitches that echoed throughout the woodland. Bees buzzed around a drumstick tree whose branches, shaken by gusts of breeze, dropped white flowers and yellowed leaves on the wayside. On the ground, flocks of gleefully chattering robins, starlings, babblers, bulbuls, treepies and other birds were enjoying their afternoon break.

The village beyond was quiet. In the middle of the tiny compound of a small hut, the householder’s pet dog had fallen asleep in the comfort of sunny warmth. Even the parrot in its wicker cage hanging from the roof of the hut had stretched its wings to sunbathe.

Two young hunters, guns on their shoulders and killed birds held tightly in their grip, emerged from the woods and took the village path. One said, ‘Deven, are you still angry with me?’ The other replied, ‘Yes because I am really disappointed at not being able to shoot more than just this one ruddy shelduck from the whole flock.’
‘But, what of that! Haven’t we bagged enough of partridges and quails?’
‘Cannot compare them with a large shelduck. And, it is all your fault, Amar. What’s the point of being kind to game birds when you have come prepared to kill them?’

Amar smiled guiltily but did not go on to defend himself as something else had caught his attention. Deven followed his friend’s gaze. In front of the cottage they were passing by, a girl aged ten or eleven, with long curls adorning her face, was squatting and playfully shifting the dust under a mango tree. When an elderly widow came to gently rebuke her, the child looked up and smiled. The two friends, Deven and Amar, were close enough to perceive the beauty of that smile and the charm of that blue-eyed girl’s innocent face. The kid was like a blooming rose in a humble garden.

Deven remarked, ‘Found something pleasant to watch?’
‘Yeah. And haven’t you?’
‘Oh, I know them very well. The girl is Charu. She is like a kid sister to me. Now, hurry up. I want to go home and have some tea.’
‘That’s right, we need some tea. My limbs are aching after the exertion.’
In a while, the two friends reached a two-storeyed house—Deven’s residence. Hurrying in and putting down his load of game, Deven lit a stove and set a pot of water on it to boil for tea. Amar stretched his legs on the bed. Before long, he said, ‘I was thinking of leaving this place
tomorrow. Don’t want to offend my father by taking too long a break from studies.’
‘Stay for two more days,’ pleaded Deven. ‘Remember, we won’t be seeing each other often from now on—only when you make an effort to come here, or I make time to visit you. Surely, I won’t be going again to Calcutta anytime soon.’ Then the friends had their tea and got busy with other
things.

The next evening, Amar found Deven dashing into the house with a tense expression. Picking up his medical kit, he was about to leave again when Amar asked, ‘Where are you off to?’ ‘To a patient,’ said Deven. ‘Her mother had called me. And who but a destitute person would call a doctor who has yet to get his certificate? I have just visited her. The patient is in a bad condition. Has an odd kind of fever, probably remittent? Has a very high temperature.’ Then Deven remembered, ‘You know the girl! She is Charu. Why don’t you join me in treating her? It will be a great help to me. Do come.’ Amar could not refuse. Indeed, he was not at all unwilling to accompany Deven.

The patient, her face flushed, lay on a low, unkempt bed, her mother caressing her brow. The two friends examined Charu thoroughly. Then, after instructing the mother about her medication and care, they returned home. Amar was to leave for Calcutta the next day, but Deven was reluctant to let him go, saying he needed his assistance in treating Charu. So, Amar could not return to Calcutta as scheduled. After a tireless vigil and apt treatment by the two
friends, the fever left Charu on the eighth day. Her widowed mother blessed the two medical students again and again. Now, there was also time for the mother to enquire about
Amar’s whereabouts. She was especially pleased to learn that Amar was her swagotra.

‘Charu, do pronam to him. He is a respected elder to you,’ she instructed. Charu raised her
head from the pillow and gestured her obeisance. Amar, smiling, twirled her hair. In a few days, Amar returned to Calcutta and his medical studies. He attended lectures in the college as well as made speeches as a representative of his institute. In his free time, he enjoyed theatre shows. Memories of his visit to Deven’s village and those of Charu’s illness were fading fast from his mind.

Babu Haranath—the zamindar of Manikgunj and Amar’s father—was the owner of a large house, a huge motor car and a big belly. Though a strict man in general, he had a soft corner for his only child who had lost his mother. Keeping him happy and fulfilling all his wants was one of his passions. He was a kindly person otherwise too, and treated his subjects well. His charitable habits were well known and held responsible for his not attaining great wealth as a zamindar. Even his bitter rivals—the family of the Basus— had to admit that Haranath’s zamindari was not thriving as much as it should only because of his unselfish nature.

The Durga Puja season had come. One day when Amar was getting ready to leave for his home in Manikgunj, Devendra visited him in his dwelling in Calcutta. He invited Amar to accompany him to his village to spend the puja days there. Devendra had just qualified as a doctor and, as thanksgiving to Ma Durga, his mother was observing a special puja. Deven tried to persuade a reluctant Amar. Should not Amar join in the celebrations as a close friend? Were not the two of them like brothers? Amar was moved. Having lost his own mother in childhood, he had a weakness for the idea of motherhood. If he could, in some way, contribute to fulfilling a mother’s wish, he was ready to do that. So, along with the shopping required for the ceremony, which was the main reason for Deven’s visit to Calcutta, he took Amar to his village.

Ritualistically, Deven’s mother’s Durga Puja was not as flawless as pujas in Calcutta were, but Amar was impressed by the simple joy and devotion with which the villagers participated in the celebrations. On the tenth day, after the immersion of the idol, it was time for people to exchange auspicious greetings. Hugging his friend, Deven said, ‘Do I really have to bid adieu to
you today?’
‘Yes, Deven. Even though my father readily agreed to my spending the puja days with you when I wrote to him about it, I know how eagerly he must be waiting for me.’
‘And I suspect, you, too, are very keen to see him. Looks like you are still a little boy.’
As the friends were talking, a group of small girls approached them to pay their respects. Taking turns, they touched Amar’s and Deven’s feet. Among them, a girl in an indigo sari was especially attractive. Noticing that her lookspleased Amar, Deven asked, ‘Can you recognize her?’ After
thinking for a few moments, Amar recognized her. ‘Isn’t she the kid we had treated once?’
Deven nodded and proceeded to greet each of the girls individually. ‘Go inside my house, girls. My mom is waiting to treat you with sweets.’ The pretty girl in blue approached Deven and said softly, ‘My mother requests you to come to our place once, Deven Dada…’ ‘Of course, we will go there. Did not need an invitation for that,’ replied Deven. ‘Come, Amar, let us go and pay
our respects to Charu’s mother.’ ‘But will there be enough time?’ Amar wondered.
‘Remember, I have to catch a train this evening.’
‘I know, I know. I promise I’m not going to delay you for that. Will only make a flying visit to Charu’s mother.’ In her little cottage, the poor widow had arranged a meal for Deven and Amar by setting two plates with the best of sweetmeats and savouries that she could manage to procure. She was overjoyed to meet the two friends. Amar was, frankly, overwhelmed to find her so excited on seeing him. ‘I can never repay your debts,’ said the widow.
‘Aren’t you an aunt of mine? Isn’t it our duty to look after you?’ Deven cheered her.
‘By the way…’ the widow had something more to say but the friends had no time to listen to her as they had to leave, at once, for the railway station.

As the two friends walked side by side, Deven softly said, ‘The widow has no one to look after her and her child. Just because I speak to them kindly, she feels she can rely on me—as if I am somehow related to her. But you know my difficulties, my family problems. You also know my financial challenges. I have got to work very hard to support my family. No scope for me to do anything worthwhile for the widow and her daughter, however much I may want to.’
‘Is she that poor?’ asked Amar.
‘No. What she worries about is not money to live on. She wants her daughter to be married well.’
‘But isn’t the daughter just a kid?’
‘She is eleven. How much longer than that can a Hindu girl remain safely unmarried? The widow has started looking for a groom in earnest. She fears that if Charu is not married off soon, she won’t get a good husband due to the meagreness of her dowry. Now, Amar, do me a favour. Help me find a groom for her.’
‘Such a good-looking girl,’ said Amar, reflectively. ‘She is bound to get a good husband even without a dowry.’
‘Don’t you have any idea about the world around you, Amar?’ said Deven in surprise. ‘Do you think that a wellqualified boy or a boy from a rich family will readily marry her? Only money speaks in this world. I agree that she is a remarkable girl—not only for her beauty but also for her charming nature. But she lacks that vital element—a good dowry to accompany her.’
‘I don’t believe that the world is so mean,’ said Amar, slightly agitated. ‘Oh yes, it is,’ snapped Deven, ‘especially the affluent part of it. A suitable boy from a poor family may be found
occasionally to marry without a dowry. But that magnanimity will forever be missing from the moneyed class…’
‘That’s not true,’ objected Amar, ‘greed may exist in some families but…’
‘Don’t give me examples from what is written in modern novels. Come down to earth. Show me which rich boy has married without a dowry. Let us take you as an example, for the time being. I am sure that proposals for your marriage are already coming to your dad from rich, illustrious families. Won’t you willingly marry one of their girls?’
‘You are being unfair to me by assuming things. And if I marry into a wealthy family, it would only be to respect my father’s wishes and the wishes of my other elders and not because I myself want to marry for money.’
‘It means the same thing. Their wishes will make it more convenient for you to find a wealthy bride.’
‘Now, please stop criticizing me using hypothetical situations. You’re making it sound like I am already a culprit.’
‘I am sorry,’ said Deven. ‘I can speak my mind only with you. But, do forgive me for my outburst.’
The friends had reached the bullock cart that would take Amar to the railway station. Seated on the cart, Amar bent down to look at Deven and said, ‘You have asked me to try to find a groom for Charu. I will surely be on the lookout but…’
The wheels of the cart had started rolling noisily, rendering the ending of Amar’s sentence inaudible for Deven. But Deven smiled to himself, thinking that he had already found a groom for poor Charu.