Kusum

1

It was a year ago that I happened to meet Naveen, just as I was going for my evening stroll. He is an old friend, really informal and carefree. He has a house in Agra and is a good poet. I have attended many conferences of his group of poets and have yet to see another devotee of poetry like him. He is a lawyer by profession but is perpetually submerged in contemplation about poetry. Being an intelligent man, he gets to the bottom of a case as soon as it comes to him. That is why he sometimes does get cases but any discussion about legal issues and cases outside the law courts is a forbidden activity for him. He is a lawyer for four to five hours within the precincts of the courts, and becomes a poet from head to toe as soon as he steps out of its four walls. At all hours, you may find a congregation of poets with poetic discussions going on, and he himself listening to different poetic compositions. Naveen sways under their intoxication, and gets completely engrossed while reciting his own pieces. His voice is so mellifluous that his poetry pierces the heart like an arrow. His poetry is also distinctive for its creation of sweetness in spirituality and communicating the presence of form within the formless. He usually informs me in advance about his visits to Lucknow and therefore it surprised me to see him suddenly here today. ‘How are you here? Is everything well? You did not even inform me about your arrival.’

He said, ‘Bhaijaan, I am trapped. There was no time to inform you. Moreover, I consider your house to be my own. There is no formality or need for any special arrangements for me. I have come to trouble you regarding an important matter. Postpone your walk for now and come along to listen to my tale of distress.’

I got worried and said, ‘You have really disconcerted me. You and a distress tale! I’ll die of anxiety.’

‘Come home. I’ll tell you when you cool down.’

‘Hope the kids and family are fine?’

‘Yes, they are all fine. Let’s go to a restaurant and have a little refreshment.’

‘No, bhai, I can’t think of refreshment right now.’

We began to walk towards home.

At home, I made him wash up and have some sherbet. After taking some elaichi paan, he started narrating his tale of distress. ‘You had of course come for Kusum’s wedding. You have known her before that too. I feel that she has all the qualities that one needs to attract a simple and upright man. What do you think?’

I said eagerly, ‘I consider her to be even more praiseworthy than you do. I am yet to see another girl who is as modest, diligent, jovial and well groomed.’

Naveen said in a pathetic voice, ‘The same Kusum is on the verge of death with weeping because of her husband’s heartlessness. It’s more than a year back that she first went to her married home. She’s been there three times in between but her husband just doesn’t speak to her. He seems to be disgusted by her sight. I tried my best to call him over and clear any misunderstanding that may have arisen between the two but he neither comes nor does he respond to my letters. Who knows what snag in his mind makes him turn away so heartlessly. Now I hear that he is getting married a second time. Kusum is in bad shape. You will not even recognize her now. She just weeps through the day and night. All this will give you some idea about the extent of my worry. All the aspirations of life are gradually withering away. God did not give us a son but we considered ourselves fortunate and blessed to get Kusum. We brought her up with such care and affection. Never touched her even with a floral stem. Gave her the best of education. She did not do her BA but her mature thinking and her range of knowledge is no less than that of any educated woman of high class. You have seen her articles. My opinion is that very few ladies can write like that! Whether it is society or religious ethics, her ideas on all subjects are quite sophisticated. Her dexterity in discussion surprises me. She is such an expert in the management of domestic affairs that she manages almost our whole house. But in her husband’s eyes, she is not even as good as the dust on his feet. I asked her many times, have you said something to him, or else what is the matter? After all, why is he so indifferent to you? In response, she weeps and says, “He has not spoken even a word to me.’’ I think that some difference cropped up between them on the first day itself. He must have come to Kusum and asked her something. She must have been too shy to reply. It’s possible that he may have said a couple of other things too. Kusum must not have lifted her head. You know of course, how shy she is. That’s it! Her husband must have sulked. I cannot imagine how any man can be indifferent to a girl like Kusum but now that it has happened, how does one deal with this misfortune? The unfortunate one wrote several letters to her husband but that heartless man did not reply to even a single one! He returned all the letters. I fail to understand how that man’s heart of stone can be melted. I cannot write anything to him myself. Now you have to protect Kusum’s life, otherwise it will soon reach its end and along with her, the two of us will also lay down our lives. We can no longer bear her agony.’

Naveenji’s eyes became moist. I too became very gloomy. Trying to console him, I said, ‘You have been under this stress for so long. Why did you not tell me earlier? I will go to Moradabad today itself and give that chap such a dressing down that he will remember it all through his life. I will drag the fellow to Kusum’s feet.’

Naveenji smiled at my confidence and said, ‘What will you say to him?’

‘Don’t ask me that! I will conjure up all the magical charms of bewitchment and test them out on him.’

‘Then you will never be successful. He is so admirable, so polite, so good-natured, and so soft-spoken that you will become his admirer by the time you get back. He will stand every day in front of you with folded hands. All your resentment will disappear. You just have one way out. You have some magic! You have brought so many young men to the path of righteousness. It is your duty to awaken the passion for humanity that lies submerged in people’s hearts. What I want is that, on Kusum’s behalf, you must write so piteous a letter, that it unsettles his heart. I will remain obliged to you all through my life.’

Naveenji was a poet after all. His suggestion smacked not of pragmatism but of his poetic disposition. He has wept while reading several articles of mine and so he is convinced that I have the powers of a clever snake charmer to make any heart dance. He is unaware that all men are not poets and neither are they sensitive to the same degree. The articles that have moved Naveenji to tears have been read and thrown away with complete indifference by many others. But this was not the occasion to say all this. He would have thought that I want to wash my hands off all this. So, with great affection, I said, ‘You have thought of something really far-fetched and I wholly agree with your suggestion. While it is true that you have overestimated my eligibility to engender compassion, still I will not disappoint you. I will write a letter. The letters that Kusum wrote must be with Kusum if she has not torn them. If I get to see those letters, then I can assess what scope I may have to write about the untouched aspects.’

Naveenji took out a pack of these letters from his pocket and keeping them in front of me, he said, ‘I got these letters with me because I knew that you would like to have a look at them. Feel free to read these. Kusum is your daughter as much as mine. There is nothing hidden from you!’

I started reading the letters that were beautifully written out on fragrant, pink, smooth sheets:

My lord. I have already been here for a week but my eyes have not known even a moment’s rest. I pass the night restlessly turning sides on my bed. I often wonder what mistakes I have committed that you treat me like this. You may snub me, scold me, curse me, pull out my eyes if you want. I will happily tolerate all this chastisement but I can’t bear your coldness. I stayed in your house for a week. God only knows the cravings of my heart. I thought many times of asking you, of seeking forgiveness for my faults; but you avoided even my shadow. I found no occasion. You may remember that when the whole household slept at noon, then I used to go to your room and stand there for hours with my head bent; but you didn’t raise your eyes even once. You will probably never get to know what I felt at that time. Only unfortunate women like me can possibly get close to feeling it. After hearing the experiences of their wedding nights from my friends, I had created a heaven of pleasures in my imagination but you destroyed it with such brutality!

I ask you, do I have no right over you? Even the court puts some allegations on the culprit before passing its sentence, calls witnesses and hears their evidence. You just did not ask anything. If I get to know my lapses, I can become cautious for the future. I would have fallen at your feet and implored for forgiveness. I swear I have no inkling about the cause of your displeasure. It is possible that I don’t possess the qualities that you may have desired in your wife. Doubtless, I have not studied English; am not familiar with the culture of English society, neither do I have any knowledge of the games that the English play. There must be many other flaws in me too. I know I am not worthy of you. You deserved a much more beautiful, talented and intelligent woman than I am; but my Lord, one must receive punishment for crimes and not errors. Also, I am ready to follow your dictates. I need just a little indulgence from you, and will then show you how quickly I can get rid of my deficiencies. A glance of love from you will make my beauty resplendent, my intellect sharp and my fortune strong. This divine gift will bring about my metamorphosis.

My lord! Have you ever thought whom you are getting angry with? The defenceless woman who has fallen at your feet seeking forgiveness—the one who has been your slave since eternity—can she endure your anger? My heart is really frail. You will achieve nothing but regret by making me weep. A mere spark of fire of your anger is enough to burn me down to ashes. If it was your wish to see me dead, then I am ready to die. I just need a gesture from you. If your heart will be content to see me dead, then I will happily offer myself at your feet. But it is difficult for me not to at least say that I may have a hundred flaws but I also possess a quality—I have full confidence that no other woman can serve you the way I can. You are a scholar, you are generous and a specialist in psychology. Your slave, standing in front of you, is begging for pity. Will you turn her away from your door?

Yours to blame

Kusum

The letter electrified me. I found it difficult to tolerate that any woman could be driven to such sycophancy of her husband. If a man can become indifferent to a woman, then why can the woman also not cast him off? The villain assumes that marriage has made the woman his slave. He may inflict on the woman whatever pain he wishes, and nobody can either hold his hand or even express a whisper of protest. Man can marry a second, third or fourth time. He can continue to control the woman with an iron hand even without having a relationship with her. He knows that the woman is bound by familial constraints and has no alternative besides weeping herself to death. If he had the fear that the woman could slap, then he would never have had the courage to behave in such an uncivilized manner. Poor woman! She is so helpless. If I had been in Kusum’s place, then I would perhaps have responded to this ruthlessness with ten times more harshness. I would not have let him get off the hook. I would not have bothered about being derided by the world. If society can quietly watch such repression being inflicted on the defenceless woman without even a whimper, then I would not have cared a whit about its tears or laughter. You unfortunate man! You don’t realize how you are killing your own future joys with your dagger of cruelty. It is the time of life when the man has to open up his storehouse of love and fulfil the expectations of love that the woman’s parents, siblings and companions consider to be their due. If the man does not have the capacity to do this, then how will he be able to gratify the deprived soul of a woman? The consequences will be exactly what often happens. The woman dies of unexpressed grief. It is the memory of this time that fills the whole life with sweet delight. So strong is the woman’s thirst for the nectar of love that she considers her life to be successful if she receives her husband’s love, and deriving strength from it, she goes through the ups and downs of life without much ado. This is the time when the spring of love visits the heart and many new desires start budding. Who is heartless enough to axe the tree in this season? It is in this season that a huntsman brings the bird away from the nest and imprisons it in the cage. Can he expect to hear its sweet song after sawing its neck?

I started to read the second letter.

The treasure of my life! After waiting for two weeks, I am once again registering the same complaint. When I had written that letter, then my heart had told me that I would definitely receive an answer. I was hoping against hope. My heart still refuses to accept that you have purposely not given any reply. Perhaps you found no time, or God forbid, I hope you have not fallen ill. Who should I ask? My heart trembles with the mere thought. My only prayer to God is for your joy and good health. It’s fine if you decide not to write to me. I will at my best weep and then be quiet but for God’s sake, write immediately to me if you have any problem. I will come with somebody. I feel suffocated by the shackles of social decorum and convention. If you keep me away from serving you even in such a condition, then you will be depriving me of that right which is the most precious possession of my life. I ask you for nothing. Give me a coarse cloth to wear, coarse food to eat, I will not complain. If I am with you, then I will remain happy even through the worst calamity. I have no desire for ornaments, no desire for entertainment, none for accumulating wealth. My only aim in life is to serve you. This is its only purpose. I have no God, no guru and no master in this world. You are my God; you are my emperor; don’t push me away from your feet. Don’t cast me off. I have come to serve you with the flowers of love and service, and carry the gifts of duty and penance in the aanchal of my sari. Allow me to keep this gift, these flowers at your feet. The devotee’s job is to worship. It is not for her to worry whether God accepts or rejects her worship.

The crown of my forehead! You probably don’t realize what my condition is these days. You would not have treated me so harshly if you had known. You are a man. You have pity, sympathy and generosity. I cannot believe that you could get angry at a worthless creature like me. I deserve your pity—so weak, crippled and mute as I am! You are the sun, I am the atom; you are the fire, I am an insignificant blade of grass; you the king, I the beggar. Anger should be expressed against an equal. How can I endure the blow of your anger? If you think I am not worthy enough to serve you, then give me the poison cup with your own hands. I will consider it as ambrosia, head, shut my eyes and drink it. When I have offered my whole life to you, then the decision to either let me live or dies lies with you. The satisfaction that my death has made you free from anxiety is enough for me. I just know that I am yours and will always remain so, not just in this life but also till infinity.

The unfortunate

Kusum

After reading this letter I began to detest that chap but I even got irritated with Kusum. Agreed! You are a woman. According to prevailing custom the man has full authority over you but there is a limit to being submissive. Even she should not pay heed to him. We have demolished the dignity and confidence of women by continuously inculcating the notions of duty and sacrifice in them. If the man is not dependent on the woman, then is the woman completely ignorant? It is the meekness that makes man’s arrogance touch the skies. Hell breaks loose for the woman if the man is displeased. I believe that it is not Kusum who deserves our pity but her unfortunate husband, who has failed to realize the worth of a woman like her. I began to suspect of this guy being entangled in other kinds of vices and being trapped in pleasures of a predator of a different sort.

Anyway, I opened the third letter:

My beloved! I have now discovered that my life is meaningless. Why should a flower bloom if there is nobody to look at it or pick it? Does it bloom only to become dry, fall off the ground and be trampled upon? I have returned once again after staying in your house for a month. Your father had asked me to come and he himself organized my departure. You did not visit me even once during this time. You came inside the house several times during the day, laughed and joked with your brothers and sisters, or amused yourself by watching shows with your friends but you had sworn not to come to me. I sent many messages to you; entreated with you; shamelessly went to your room many times; but you did not lift your eyes towards me even once. It is difficult for me to imagine that any man can be so heartless. Not deserving love, not deserving trust, not even deserving to serve, then do I not even deserve your pity? The other day I made rasgullas for you with such love and care but you didn’t even touch them. Why should I continue to live on in the face of such indifference from you? Who knows what kind of hope it is that is keeping me alive. It is great injustice that you are punishing me without telling me my crime. What kind of policy is this? Do you realize that in the one month that I stayed in your house I must have eaten barely ten times? I have become so weak that darkness falls in front of my eyes at the slightest exertion. It seems as if I have lost the glow of my eyes! As if blood doesn’t run through my heart! Anyway! Feel free to torture me all you want to. This unethical system will also end one day. Now all my hopes are centred on death. I have a feeling that you will spring up a little at the news of my death and inhale a lighter breath without even a tear in your eyes. However, this is not your fault but my misfortune. I must have committed a grave sin in my earlier birth. I try not to care about you, to become indifferent like you are, to turn away from you, turn my heart away from you, but I can’t understand why I don’t find the strength to do it. Can the creeper stand on its own like the tree? The tree needs no support. From where can the creeper gain this strength? It is born only to twine around the tree. Separate it from the tree and it will die. I cannot even imagine my existence without you. You are a part of every stirring, every idea and every desire in my life. My life is a circle with you at the centre. I am a garland and you have entered every flower of this garland like a thread. Without this thread, the flowers will get scattered and perish in dust.

I have a friend, Shanno. She got married this year. Shanno literally walks on air whenever her husband visits her parents’ house. She changes her demeanour many times during the day. Her face really blossoms like the lotus. She can hardly control her rapture. She spreads it around, distributes it—for the unfortunate ones like me. I get drenched in the showers of joy and intoxication when she comes and embraces me. Both of them are drunk with love. She has neither wealth nor property but remains entranced even in her poverty. A moment of this eternal love! What in the world can be compared with that? I am aware that such pleasurable activities and freedom from anxiety is short-lived. They will be trounced by the worries and hopelessness of life but like accumulated wealth, these sweet memories will continue to provide them support. Dry roti soaked in love, rough clothes dyed in love and a small room lighted up with the light of love, have the kind of radiance and shelter in penury that is probably not fated even for the deities in heaven. When Shanno’s husband goes back to his own home, then the unhappy one weeps so bitterly that it overwhelms my heart. When she gets his letters, it appears as if she has received some divine gift. It seems there is a relish, a flavour even in her weeping, her loss and her complaint. Her tears are tears of impatience and agitation, mine of hopelessness and agony. There is waiting and delight in her restlessness, in mine only degradation and subservience. There is a claim and affection in her complaint, and in mine, only rupture and weeping.

The letter gets longer but the heart becomes no lighter. The heat is very intense. Dada is planning to take me to Mussoorie. He suspects my feebleness to be TB. Little does he realize that not just Mussoorie but even heaven is a dark dungeon for me.

The unfortunate

Kusum

My lord of stone! I returned yesterday from Mussoorie. People say it is a very invigorating and beautiful place. Must be. I did not go out of my room even once. The world is a desolate place for broken hearts.

I saw a very interesting dream last night. Should I tell you? But what’s the point? I’m not sure why I am still scared of death. The weak thread of hope still ties me to life. How distressing it is to reach the gates of the garden of life only to return without even a stroll in it! What beauty lies therein! What pleasure! The door is sealed for me. It was with such high hopes that I had gone to experience the pleasures of the garden—with such anticipation—but the door was closed as soon as I reached it.

Okay, just tell me, will you—after my death—shed a few tears on my dead body? You had accepted my responsibility for life; had taken my hand in yours forever. Will you not even show this bit of generosity? Everybody pardons the wrongs of the dead. You too do it. Come and bathe my body with your own hands, and put the sign of marriage—vermilion—on my forehead and bangles on my wrists—with your own hands. Put Gangajal in my mouth with your hands and shoulder my corpse for just a couple of steps. That’s it! My soul will be contented and will bless you. I promise you that I will sing your glory in the court of the Lord. Is this also a bad bargain? You get freed of all your responsibilities with just a little civility. Ah! If I had faith that you would show even this civility, then I would have welcomed death with such joy. But I will not be unjust to you. You may be very harsh but it is not possible that you could be so cruel. I know that you will come as soon as you receive these tidings and your eyes may perhaps even weep at my painful death. I wish I could have witnessed that auspicious occasion!

Okay! May I ask a question? Don’t be angry. Has some fortunate woman taken my place? If it is so, then congratulations! Do please send her photograph to me. I will worship her, bow down my head at her feet. She has received the gift from God, whom I failed to please. One should wash the feet of such a fortunate woman and receive the water as divine. It is my heart’s desire that you must live happily with her. If I could have served that divine creature in some manner—in covert, if not in an overt way—then I could have been of some use to you. For now, just tell me her good name and her address. I will fly to her and say to her—Devi, I am your slave because you are the beloved of my lord. Give me a little place at your feet. I will decorate your hair with pearls, put colour on your heels—this will remain the only devotion of my life! Don’t think that I will grudge you your happiness or be jealous of it. I would have been jealous only if someone had taken away what had belonged to me. When I have not had the good fortune of calling something my own, then why should I be jealous about losing it?

I had to write a lot more but Doctor Sahib has arrived. Poor thing! He has misunderstood the smouldering heart to be TB.

The one tortured by agony

Kusum

These two letters filled the cup of my patience to its brim! I am a man without passions. I am not even touched by sensitivity. Like most artists, even I am not moved by words. The unsolved mystery of what comes from the heart and what is meant only to tickle the vulnerable often becomes a hindrance in my pursuit of literary pleasure, but I lost control after reading these letters. My eyes really filled up at one point. The feeling that the girl who has been the apple of her parents’ eyes must get so enmeshed in hardships, was deeply agonizing for me! Her marriage has become a funeral pyre, or a command of death for her. It is true that such marital accidents are rare but given the current condition of society, there remains a strong possibility of their existence. Such assaults will become an everyday affair unless men and women are given equal rights. To repress the weak is probably a basic characteristic of human beings. People keep away from dogs that bite while even kids entertain themselves by throwing stones at a peaceful dog. Your servants will never quarrel if they enjoy a similar position but if today you decide to make one of them the boss and the other his junior, then just observe how the chief sahib bosses over his subordinate. Satisfaction in married life is possible only if its foundation is laid on equal rights. I at least have serious doubts that it is possible for any form of love to coexist with such great disparity. What we today perceive as love between the man and the woman is actually the love that a master has for his animal. If the animal bends its neck and keeps working, then the master will feed it well with hay and oilcakes, will pat its body, and even adorn it with ornaments, but the moment the animal plays any trick or becomes obstinate, then the master’s whip will slash across its back. This cannot be called love.

Anyway, I opened the fifth letter:

Just as I expected, you did not respond even to my last letter. The message, that you have decided to forsake me, is quite clear. Be it as you wish! Man thinks of woman as the dust of his feet but for the woman, the man is godly—in fact more than a god. She begins dreaming about her husband as soon as the faculty of thinking is born within her. You entered the space of my heart as a doll at the time when I had just begun to play with them. I washed your feet, welcomed you with garlands of flowers and other offerings. After some time I got passionately interested in reading and listening to stories. Then you entered my home and settled in my heart as the hero of these stories. You have been a part of my life in some form or the other, since my childhood. These emotions have touched the core of my existence. Every atom of my identity is bound by this emotion. It is not simple to push it out of my heart. Even the minutest pieces of my life will get completely scattered if I do so, but if that’s your wish, then so be it. I was ready to do everything to serve you. I was not merely ready to live a life of deprivation and poverty. I was even willing to destroy myself in your service. The purpose of my life was to annihilate myself in your service. I abandoned modesty and hesitation, squashed my self-respect under my feet, but you still do not wish to accept me. I am helpless. You are of course not at fault. It must be an act of mine that has made you so heartless. You do not consider it proper even to voice it. I was prepared to go through all hardships besides this heartlessness. I would not have taken even a split second to drink the cup of poison from your hand, but many strange things occur in this world! To begin with, I had serious objections in accepting the fact that the woman is like the dust of man’s feet. I considered her to be an equal and a companion to man but now I am no longer in the dark. A long time back I had read that in ancient times the man possessed the woman like he did cattle or land. The man had the right to keep the woman, mortgage her, or kill her. Marriage simply meant that the group arrived armed along with his strong group of kinsmen and just kidnapped the bride. Along with the girl he also carried whatever wealth, grain or cattle he could lay his hands on. He took the woman home, chained her feet and imprisoned her. In an attempt to demolish any remains of self-respect left in the woman, it was inculcated in her that man is her God and her married state is a divine blessing. The psychology of man has not undergone any change even after thousands of years. All the customs continue to exist either in their antique or distorted forms. Today I realize how truthfully that writer had represented the condition of woman.

Now, my humble and last request is that kindly return all my letters. The clothes and ornaments given by you are now useless for me. I have no right to keep these with me. You can get them picked up whenever you like. I have put them in a box and kept it apart. The list of ornaments lies along with it. Do get them matched. From today onwards, you will receive no complaint either from me or my pen. In no frame of mind should you at any time nurture any doubt that I will ever betray you or be faithless to you. I will stifle myself to death in this house but my heart will never bear a grudge against you. Deference for the husband is the main essence of my upbringing. Neither jealousy nor envy can thrust this emotion out of my heart. I am the guardian of your family name. I will never be disloyal to this trust. If I had any control over this, I would have returned this too but both you and I are helpless in this matter. My only prayer to God will be that may you remain happy and safe wherever you are. The bitterest experience of my life has been the realization that a woman’s life is worthless—for herself, for her parents and for her husband. She has no place either in the home of her mother or her husband. My home is full of mourning. My mother is weeping and so is my father. All my family members are weeping. All of them are undergoing such mental agony because of my existence.

They perhaps feel that it would have been better if this girl had not been born in our family. But even if the whole world gets together, it will not be able win against you. You are my lord. Your decision is unshakeable. One cannot appeal against it, cannot plead against it. Anyway, this story gets over today. Now I exist with my repressed and ruptured heart. My still unfulfilled desire is that I could not serve you!

The unfortunate

Kusum

2

I am not sure how long I kept sitting in a state of mute agony, when Naveenji said, ‘What is your decision after reading the letters?’

With a weeping heart, I said, ‘If these letters have had no impact on that devil, then what possibility is there of my letter achieving anything. Expressing any more pity and anguish is beyond my ability. There is no sacred emotion that these letters have not touched upon—pity, modesty, humiliation, justice—Kusum has alluded to all these. The last resort for me is to pester that villain and try to reach to the root of the problem by directly confronting him. If he does not give me a satisfactory answer, then I will end up spilling his blood as well as mine. Either I will be hanged or he will end up in Kaala Paani. The patience and courage with which Kusum has dealt with the whole issue is truly praiseworthy. You just comfort her. I will leave for Moradabad by train tonight and whatever the situation, I will apprise you of it by day after tomorrow! To me he appears to be a debauched and unintelligent fellow.’

I am not sure what all I kept mouthing in the grip of passion. After that we had our meal and went to the station. He went to Agra, and I took the route to Moradabad. He was still very nervous that I might become violent in a fit of anger. He became calm only after persistent convincing from me.

I reached Moradabad the next morning and started my investigation. The suspicion that I had about that young man’s character proved to be unfounded. Whether it was in the neighbourhood, in the college or amongst his good friends, he had admirers everywhere. The mystery became still more enigmatic. I reached his house in the evening. I cannot forget the genuine manner in which he hastened to bend down at my feet. I have yet to meet a young man who is so eloquent, well mannered and polite. I had never seen such a gap between appearance and reality. After a few customary and formal inquiries about his well-being, I asked him, ‘I am delighted to meet you but after all, what lapse has Kusum committed that you are inflicting such a harsh punishment on her? She wrote several letters to you but you did not respond to even a single one. She even came here two or three times but you did not even speak to her. Are you not being unfair to that innocent girl?’

The young man responded somewhat shyly: ‘It would have been good if you had not raised this issue. It is extremely difficult for me to answer this. I had left this for all of you to assess, but I will now have to clear all misconceptions and articulate my mind.’

He merely uttered this and then fell silent. Insects of different varieties collected around the electric light. Some crickets were skipping around our faces and then they flew away, seemingly after leaving an imprint of their victory over the human race. A big grasshopper was also sitting on the table, probably weighing itself with the intention of leaping. The young man brought a small fan and kept it on the table. It proved to the insect that man is not as defenceless as it had assumed. The field was cleared in a moment and there was no one left to interrupt our talks.

The young man hesitated and said, ‘It is possible that you may consider me to be extremely greedy, vile and selfish but the truth is that this marriage has not fulfilled that desire of mine which is much dearer to me than my life. I was not yet willing to get married and chained down by matrimony but Naveenji really pestered me and after listening to him, I cherished a hope that he would help me in all ways. However, he completely ignored me after the wedding. He did not write to me even once about when he may be able to arrange for my trip abroad. He chose to disappoint me even though I had expressed my wish to him right in the beginning. His negligence demolished all my ambitions to dust. What choice am I now left with except that I pass my LLB and make rounds of the local courts?’

I asked him, ‘So, what do you expect from Naveenji? He gave no cause for complaint as far as customary transactions are concerned. It is probably beyond his means to send you abroad.’

The young man bent his head and said, ‘Then he should have said this to me right at the beginning. Why would I have then got married at all? He may have spent whatever amount but how is that of any use to me? At least ten or twelve thousand rupees have been burnt down by the two sides, and along with that—my aspirations too. My father, in fact, has accumulated a debt of several thousand rupees. Now he cannot send me to England. Could respected Naveenji have not sent me to England, had he so desired? Five or ten thousand is no big issue for him.’

I was stunned. I spontaneously uttered, ‘Chhee! What a world! And what a wonderful Hindu society! What slaves of selfishness can be found here! They wish to achieve high status by endangering the life of a vulnerable woman and oppressing her father. There is nothing wrong in going abroad for education. Do please go, if God gives you the stamina to do so. But it is the limit of shamelessness to abandon your wife and burden your father-in-law with this. It would have been truly praiseworthy if you had gone on your own steam. What is the point of going by putting the burden on another’s shoulder and bargaining off your own self-esteem?’ Kusum herself holds no value in the eyes of this wicked and foolish man. She is merely a means of achieving his selfish goals. It is meaningless to debate with a man of such low character. The situation is such that we are in his grip and we have no choice except placing our heads at his feet.

I reached Agra by the next train and narrated the whole incident to Naveenji. Little did he know that the whole responsibility has been put on him! Even though the bad times have adversely affected his legal practice and he cannot easily bear the expense of five to ten thousand rupees—if that man had merely indicated this to him, he would certainly have managed it in some or the other way. Who else, besides Kusum, did he have in the world? Poor thing! He was not at all aware of this. So when I narrated all this to him he could not help saying, ‘Chhee! The good fellow gave this minor matter so much importance! You write immediately and inform him that he can happily go for his studies at any time, whenever he wants to. I accept the full responsibility for that. For a whole year he has tortured poor Kusum almost to death.’

The matter was discussed at home. Kusum also heard it from her mother. She discovered that a cheque of one thousand rupees was being sent in her husband’s name, as if a religious ceremony was being performed for deliverance from hardship.

Kusum frowned and said, ‘Amma, tell Dada that there is no need to send any money anywhere.’

The mother looked at her child in surprise. ‘What money? Okay! That! Why? What harm is there in this? If the boy so desires, then he should go and study abroad. Why should we stop him? All this anyway is in his name and belongs to him. Can we tie all this to our chest and take it with us?’

‘No. You tell Dada not to send even a single pie.’

‘But what’s wrong with it?’

‘Because this is the same kind of looting that ruffians do. Forcibly take somebody away and then swindle a large amount from the family as the price for freeing him.’

The mother answered, reproachfully. ‘What sort of talk is this, beti? It is after ages that God has finally conceded and you have begun to bother him once again.’

Kusum was irritated. ‘It is better that such a God continues to be angry. I cannot spend my life with a man who is so selfish, arrogant and vile. I am warning you that I will consume poison if any money is sent there. Don’t consider this to be a joke. I do not want to see even the face of such a man. Just tell Dada and in case you are scared, I will tell him myself. I have decided to remain free.’

The mother saw that the daughter’s face had become flushed, as if she wanted to neither hear nor say anything more about this issue.

Next day, Naveenji reported all this to me, and in a state of gay abandon, I went running to Kusum and embraced her. This is the kind of self-respect I wish to see in women. Kusum managed to do what I had in my mind but did not have the courage to express.

One year has gone by. Kusum has not written even once to her husband and neither does she ever mention him. Many a time, Naveenji has expressed the desire to cajole his son-in-law and bring him home but Kusum does not want to hear even his name. It is surprising to see how her self-reliance has brought immense assurance and strength to her. Her face is neither pale nor overshadowed with disappointment or anguish. The glow and radiance of self-respect and liberation have taken its place.

Translated from the Hindi by Vibha S. Chauhan