The Second Marriage

When I look at my four-year-old son, Ramswarup, it seems that he no longer has the innocence and allure of two years ago. He stares at me with stern, reddened eyes. Seeing him in this condition, I feel afraid and remember the promise I had made to his mother two years ago when she was on her deathbed. Man is so selfish and such a slave to his senses that he realizes his duty only at the direst of times.

The day the doctor lost all hope in her recovery, she cried and asked me, ‘Will you marry a second time? You must not do it.’ Then, with a start, she said, ‘What would happen to my Ram? Look after him, if possible.’

I said, ‘Yes, yes, I promise that I will never marry a second time and you need not worry about Ramswarup. Will you not get better?’

She threw her hands towards me, as if bidding me farewell.

Two minutes later, the world turned dark before my eyes. Ramswarup became motherless. For two to three days, I clung to him, holding him close to my heart.

After my leave was over, I left him with my father and resumed my duty.

For some three months, I was heartbroken. I went about my job as there was no way out of it. There were many ideas that came to my mind. For two or three years I would work for money and then go on a world trip; I would do this, I would do that, but now I was without any focus.

I was getting letters regularly from home mentioning the proposals for marriage that were coming for me from different places. The people were good, the girl was intelligent and beautiful; one would not get an offer from such a place again; after all, you will have to do it, so do it. For every little thing my opinion was sought.

But I would refuse every time. I was amazed at how people could agree to marry a second time when one’s beautiful and committed wife, who was a gift from heaven, was suddenly snatched away by God!

Time passed. Then friends started pestering me. They said, ‘Come on now, women are like the shoes that one wears. When one is torn, change to the other.’

I would shut them up by saying, ‘What a terrible insult this is to womankind.’

When our society which has such renown does not allow a Hindu widow to marry a second time, then it is not becoming for me to marry a virgin. Till our community is redeemed from such shame, forget about marrying a virgin, I would refuse to marry even a widow. I thought it might be a good idea to resign from my job and start campaigning for such a cause.

But how should I put into words what my heart went through? I realized my limitations when I saw that I could not put my ideas into action, could not strengthen my character and could not practise what I preached. And six months later, I got married to a virgin.

Members of my household were happy that I had somehow agreed. That day, two or three of my educated relatives scolded me, saying, ‘You had been going around making tall claims that you would marry only a widow; what happened to all those resolutions? You have not set a good example to which we could refer.’

It was like being drenched with cold water from clay pots. My eyes were opened. In the zest of my youth, what had I done? Old thoughts again surfaced and even today I wallow in them.

I thought: servants cannot look after my son; only women are suitable for the job. If I get married, a woman will come to stay in the house; I can bring Ramswarup over and take special care of him, but all such ideas got erased like badly written letters of the alphabet. I was again forced to send away Ramswarup to the village to stay with my father. The cause was not hidden. After all, it is impossible for a woman to love her stepson. At the time of my marriage, I had heard that the girl was very good; she would care for her near ones and even treat him like her own child, but it was a lie. No matter how right-minded a woman is, she can never love her stepchildren.

And this heartfelt sorrow is the punishment I have received for breaking the promise I made to a virtuous wife in her final moments.

Translated from the Hindi by Anuradha Ghosh