Devdas’s father has just passed away. Parvati, now married, comes to visit him, hoping to wean him away from his drinking habit.

It was a little before dusk when Parvati entered Devdas’s room. He was sitting on the bed studying some accounts. He looked up as she entered. Slowly, Parvati shut the door, bolted it and sat on the floor. Devdas looked at her with a smile on his lips. His face was sad, yet calm. Suddenly, he said, ‘What if I dragged your name in the mud?’

Parvati shot him a quick, pained glance from her bright eyes and lowered them immediately. That look made it very clear that the comment would always be lodged in her heart as a painful reminder. She had come with so much to say, but her mind went blank now. Every time she came near him, she seemed to lose her powers of speech.

Devdas laughed again, ‘I know, I know, you’re feeling shy, right?’

But she still couldn’t talk. He went on, ‘Don’t be. So, okay, we made a mistake, the fault was on both ends—now look at the mess we are both in. You spoke in anger and haste, I wounded you on the brow—I suppose that makes us even.’

His words were devoid of sarcasm or derision; he spoke of the past with a pleasant, contented look. But Parvati felt her heart was ready to burst. She covered her face, held her breath and said to herself, ‘Dev-da, that wound is my salvation, my only hope. You loved me and so you were kind enough to inscribe our sweet memories on my brow. It is no shame to me, no disgrace—but a matter of pride.’

‘Paro.’

She answered through the cover of her sari, ‘What is it?’

‘I often feel very angry with you—’

At last, his voice took on a bitter edge. ‘Father is gone, it is a difficult time in my life; but if your were with me, I wouldn’t feel it so. You know my brother’s wife, and my brother’s nature too. What am I to do with Mother now? And I simply do not know what will become of me. If you were here, I could happily drop it all in your lap and . . . what’s that, Paro?’

Parvati was sobbing helplessly.

Devdas said, ‘Are you crying? Then I have to stop talking.’

Parvati wiped her eyes and said, ‘No, go on.’

In an instant Devdas cleared his voice of all emotion and asked, ‘Paro, I believe you have turned into an expert homemaker? A proper wife, are you?’

Inwardly Paro bit into her lips and said, ‘Not really. What’s the point if the flower is never laid at the feet of the deity?’

Devdas laughed out loud, ‘I think it’s really funny. You were this tiny little thing, and now look at you. Big house, large estate, grown children—and Chowdhury-babu, everything generally . . . what are you laughing about?’

Chowdhury-babu was a great amusement to Parvati; whenever he came to mind, she wanted to smile. Even in this tearful state, she grinned.

Devdas assumed a fake air of gravity and asked, ‘Could you do me a favour?’

‘What?’

‘Are there any nice girls in your part of the land?’

Parvati gulped, choked and spluttered, ‘Nice girls? Whatever for?’

‘I could marry one. I feel like settling down, just for once.’

Parvati donned a straight and sweet face, ‘She has to be very beautiful, right?’

‘No more than you.’

‘And she has to be a good soul?’

‘No, not too much of that—perhaps a little playful—someone who can squabble with me like you used to do.’

Parvati thought, no one else can do that, Dev-da. For that she’d have to love you as much as I do. But instead, she said, ‘Well, that’s easy. Thousands like me would be honoured to call you their own.’

Devdas jested merrily, ‘For the moment, just one will do. Can you get me one?’

‘Dev-da, would you really marry?’

‘I just told you.’ But he didn’t tell her that she was the only woman he would ever be interested in, for as long as he lived.

‘Dev-da, can I ask you something?’

‘What?’

Parvati collected her wits and asked him, ‘Why did you suddenly start drinking?’

Devdas laughed, ‘That doesn’t take a lot of practice, does it?’

‘All right, but why did you make it a habit?’

‘Who told you this, Dharmadas?’

‘That doesn’t matter. Isn’t it true?’

Devdas didn’t deceive her. He said, ‘Yes, to some extent.’

Parvati sat there in shocked silence. After a while she asked, ‘And have you given this woman a few thousand rupees’ worth of jewellery?’

Devdas laughed again, ‘I haven’t given them to her, but I have got them made. Do you want them?’

Parvati stretched out her palm, ‘Why not? Look, I have no ornaments.’

‘Chowdhury-babu didn’t give you any?’

‘He did. But I gave it all away to his eldest daughter.’

‘Don’t you want any?’

Parvati shook her head and dropped her gaze.

Now Devdas truly wanted to weep. He could well imagine the despair that would drive a woman to give away her ornaments. But he held his tears in check and spoke slowly, ‘It’s all a lie, Paro. I do not love another woman and I have not given her any jewels.’

Parvati heaved a great sigh and I said to herself, ‘I thought as much.’

They were both silent for many minutes. Finally Parvati said, ‘But promise me, you’ll never touch liquor again.’

‘I can’t do that. Could you promise never to think of me again?’

Parvati was quiet. Someone blew on the conch outside, heralding the dusk. Devdas glanced at the window anxiously and said, ‘It’s getting late, Paro; go home now.’

‘I won’t go. Promise me first.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Not everyone can do everything.’

‘I’m sure they can if they want to.’

‘Really? Can you run away with me tonight?’

For a split second Parvati’s heart forgot to beat. Bemused, she mumbled, ‘That’s impossible.’

Devdas edged away on the bed and commanded, ‘Paro, open the door.’

Parvati moved a little to cover the door with her back and said, ‘Promise me.’

Devdas stood up and spoke with calm deliberation, ‘Paro, is there any point in forcing a promise? Today’s promise may be broken tomorrow. Why would you have me marked faithless?’

Again, many minutes passed in utter silence. Suddenly a clock chimed somewhere, signalling nine o’clock. Devdas came to life at that. ‘Oh Paro, open the door, quick—’ he said.

Parvati didn’t speak.

‘Paro . . .’

‘I won’t go,’ Parvati broke down and fell to the ground. She wept bitterly.

It was pitch dark inside the room and nothing was visible. Devdas could merely guess that Parvati lay on the floor, weeping. He called softly, ‘Paro.’

Paro sobbed, ‘Dev-da, I am miserable.’

Devdas edged closer. He too had tears in his eyes, but his voice was still steady. ‘Don’t I know it?’ he said softly.

‘Dev-da, I feel like death. I could never get to take care of you—I always wanted to—’

In the dark, Devdas wiped his eyes. ‘There’s time yet for that,’ he said.

‘Then come home with me. There’s no one to look after you here.’

‘If I go to your home, will you take real good care of me?’

‘I have always wanted to. Dear God, please make this wish come true. After that, I wouldn’t even mind if I died.’

Now Devdas’s tears flowed.

Parvati spoke again, ‘Dev-da, come home with me.’

Devdas tried to wipe his tears away and said, ‘All right, I will.’

>‘Will you? Swear on me?’

Devdas aimed somewhere at her feet and said, ‘I will never forget this promise: if it makes you happy to take care of me, I will come. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll come to you.’

An extract from Chapter 15. Chandramukhi returns to Calcutta in search of Devdas, having heard that he is seriously ill.

Slowly, a month went by. Kebla grew restless. Chandramukhi, too, began to wonder if Devdas was in the city at all. Still, she kept at her vigil, prayed fervently and took it one day at a time, always in hope.

Nearly one and a half months after her arrival in Calcutta, one night fate smiled on her. It was nearly eleven at night, she was returning home disconsolately when she suddenly noticed a man sitting by the wayside, in front of a house, and muttering to himself. Her heart leaped—she knew the voice. She could tell that voice from a thousand others. It was dark here, and the man lay flat on his face, dead drunk. Chandramukhi went near him and shook him lightly, ‘Who are you, lying here like this?’

The man sang the garbled words, ‘Hear me friend, I don’t have a love; if Krishna were my husband—’

Chandramukhi was certain now. She called, ‘Devdas?’

Without moving a muscle, he answered, ‘Hmmm?’

‘Why are you lying here? Will you go home?’

‘No, I’m fine.’

‘Do you want a drink?’

‘Yes,’ he nearly fell on her in his eagerness. Arm around her neck, he asked, ‘Such a good friend—who are you?’

Tears flowed down her cheeks. Devdas stumbled and lurched and stood up with her support. He stared at her face and said, ‘Well, well, nice looking face.’

Chandramukhi smiled through her tears and said, ‘Yes, pretty nice; now try to hold on to me and move forward. We need a buggy.’

‘Of course we do.’ As they walked, Devdas asked in slurred tones, ‘Hey pretty lady, do you know me?’

Chandramukhi said, ‘Yes.’

He leaned against her all the way back home in the buggy. At the door he fished in his pocket, ‘Pretty lady, you may have picked me up, but my pockets are empty.’

Chandramukhi quietly dragged him by the hands, took him right inside the house and pushed him on to the bed. ‘Sleep,’ she said.

Still slurring his words, Devdas said, ‘Are you up to something? Didn’t I just tell you, my pockets are empty. It’s no use, pretty lady.’

The pretty lady knew that. She said, ‘Pay me tomorrow.’

Devdas said, ‘Such faith—it’s not good. Tell me the truth—what do you want?’

Chandramukhi said, ‘I’ll tell you tomorrow,’ and she went into the next room.

When Devdas awoke, it was late morning. The room was empty. Chandramukhi had showered and gone downstairs to prepare lunch. Devdas looked around—he had never come to this room, he didn’t know a single object here. He didn’t remember anything of the previous night, except that someone had taken care of him ever so tenderly. Someone had brought him here lovingly and put him to bed.

Chandramukhi walked into the room. She had changed her earlier attire. She still wore the jewels, but the colourful sari, bindi, and the betel leaf stains on her lips were all gone. She came in wearing an ordinary sari. Devdas looked at her and laughed, ‘From where did you burgle me in here last night?’

Chandramukhi said, ‘I didn’t steal you away, just picked you up.’

Suddenly Devdas grew serious, ‘Be that as it may. But what is all this with you again? When did you come here? You’re fairly glittering with jewellery—who gave you all this?’

Chandramukhi looked at him sharply and said, ‘Don’t.’

Devdas laughed and said, ‘All right, can’t I even joke about it? When did you come?’

‘About one and a half months ago.’

Devdas did some calculations in his head and said, ‘So you came here soon after you went to my house?’

Surprised, Chandramukhi asked, ‘How did you know I went to your house?’

Devdas said, ‘I went back there soon after you left. A maid—the one who escorted you to my sister-in-law—told me: yesterday a woman came here from Ashathjhuri village, she’s very beautiful. That said it all. But why did you get all these ornaments made again?’

‘I didn’t have them made—these are all fake. I bought them here in Calcutta. Just look at the waste though—I had to spend so much for your sake. And you didn’t even recognize me yesterday when you saw me.’

Devdas laughed, ‘I may not have recognized you, but the caring was familiar. I do remember thinking, who could be so caring but for my Chandramukhi?’

She wanted to weep for joy. After a few moments’ silence she asked, ‘Devdas, you don’t hate me quite as much now, do you?’

Devdas said, ‘No, but I do love you.’

In the afternoon as he prepared for his bath, she noticed a piece of flannel tied around his stomach. Frightened, she asked, ‘Why have you tied that?’

Devdas said, ‘I get an ache there sometimes. But why are you so scared?’

Chandramukhi struck her brow and said, ‘Have you gone and ruined yourself—is your liver infected?’

Devdas laughed and said, ‘Chandramukhi, perhaps that’s what it is.’

The same day the doctor came and examined Devdas for a long time. He was most concerned. He prescribed some medicines and advised that the utmost care was needed, or things could come to a fatal pass. They both understood the upshot of this advice. Word was sent home and Dharmadas arrived; some money was drawn from the bank for the treatment. Two days passed smoothly after this. But on the third day Devdas had fever.

He sent for Chandramukhi and said, ‘You came at the right moment, or you may have never set eyes on me again.’

Chandramukhi wiped her tears and began to tend to him in right earnest. She prayed with folded hands, ‘God, never in my dreams did I imagine I would come in so handy at such a crucial hour. But please let Devdas get well.’

Devdas was bedridden for nearly a month. Then he slowly began to recover. The malady was contained.

One day Devdas said, ‘Chandramukhi, your name is really long—I can’t say it all the time. Shall I shorten it?’

Chandramukhi said, ‘Sure.’

Devdas said, ‘So from now on I’ll call you Bou.’

Chandramukhi laughed, ‘Bou? You mean “wife”? But why?’

‘Does everything have to have a reason?’

‘No . . . If that’s what you want, go ahead. But won’t you tell me why you have this wish?’

‘No. Don’t ask me the reason.’

Chandramukhi nodded, ‘All right.’

Devdas was silent for several minutes. Then he asked gravely, ‘Tell me, Bou, what am I to you that you are caring for me like this?’

Chandramukhi was neither a bashful, blushing bride, nor a gauche, naïve girl; she looked at Devdas serenely and her voice dripped compassion, ‘You are my everything—don’t you know that yet?’

Devdas was staring at the wall. He didn’t take his eyes off it as he spoke slowly, ‘I do, but it doesn’t bring much joy. I loved Paro so much, she loved me so much—and yet, there was such pain. After that torment I vowed never to set foot in this trap again; and I didn’t, at least not by choice. But why did you do this? Why did you get me involved like this?’ After a while he said, ‘Bou, perhaps you will also suffer like Paro.’

Chandramukhi covered her face and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Devdas continued, ‘You two are so unlike each other, but still similar. One proud and haughty, the other gentle and restrained. She had little patience and you are so forbearing. She has a good name, respect, and you live in shame. Everyone loves her, but nobody loves you. But I love you, yes, of course I love you.’ He heaved a great sigh and spoke again, ‘I do not know what the judge of sin and virtue up above is going to make of you, but if we ever meet after death, I will never be able to part from you.’

Chandramukhi wept in silence and prayed fervently, ‘Dear God, if ever, in a future life, this sinner is granted pardon, let that be my reward.’