Since Shodashi, Jalpa had reduced her visits to Ratan’s house. She would go only once, for an hour or two. For several days now, Munshi Dayanath had been having bouts of fever. How could she leave him in that condition? Whenever Munshiji had even a slight fever, he would begin talking deliriously. Sometimes he sang, sometimes he wept, and sometimes he saw messengers of Yama dancing before him. He wanted the whole household to sit around him and even wished to have the relatives called so that he could bid them all a final farewell. He had no hope of surviving the illness. Yamaraj himself seemed to be standing before him with a celestial chariot.
Jageshwari could do everything else, but she could not bear his delirious talk. As soon as he began to weep, she would leave the room. She had begun to think that he was possessed by some spirit.
There were piles of several newspapers in Munshiji’s room. This was his one addiction. When Jalpa became restless sitting there, she would turn these piles over and look through them. One day she saw a chess problem in an old newspaper, for which some gentleman had even offered a prize to whoever solved it.
She remembered that on the shelf where Ramanath’s chessboard and pieces were kept, there was a book containing several such problems. She immediately ran upstairs and brought the notebook down. The problem was in that notebook, and not only was the problem there, its solution was also given.
Suddenly an idea flashed through Jalpa’s mind: What if I get this problem published in some newspaper? Perhaps his eye will fall upon it.
It was not such a simple problem that it could be solved easily. Since there was no one in this city who could match him, there could not be many people capable of solving such a problem. Whatever happened, he had solved it once; the moment he saw it again, he would solve it again. Those seeing it for the first time might take a day or two to think it through.
I will write that the prize should be given to the first person who solves it. It is a gamble, certainly. Even if he does not receive the money, there is at least a chance that his name may appear among those who solve it, and some clue may be found. Even if nothing comes of it, it will only cost the money. I will offer ten rupees as the prize. If the prize is too small, no great player will pay attention to it. This will also be for Rama’s benefit.
Caught up in these thoughts, she could not visit Ratan that day. Ratan waited for her all day. When she still did not come in the evening, she could bear it no longer.
Today was the first time Ratan had left the house since her husband’s death. There was no brightness anywhere, no sign of life, as though the whole city were mourning. She had a habit of driving her motorcar fast, but today she was going even more slowly than a tonga.
Seeing an old woman sitting by the roadside, she stopped the motorcar and gave her four annas. A little farther on, she saw two constables taking a prisoner along. She stopped the motorcar, called one of the constables, gave him one rupee, and said, “Give this prisoner some sweets.”
The constable saluted and accepted the rupee. In his heart he felt happy; he thought he must have risen that morning after seeing the face of some fortunate person.
As soon as Jalpa saw her, she said, “Forgive me, sister. I could not come today. Dadaji has had a fever for several days.”
Ratan immediately walked toward Munshiji’s room and asked, “He is here, isn’t he? You never told me.”
Munshiji’s fever had subsided somewhat at that moment. As soon as he saw Ratan, he said, “I am very sorry, Deviji, but this is the way of the world. Today it is one person’s turn; tomorrow it is another’s. This procession never ends. Now it is my turn to go. I cannot survive. I am terribly thirsty, as though a furnace were burning inside my chest and I am being consumed. No one is truly one’s own. Baiji, all worldly relationships are relationships of self-interest. A man stretches out his hands alone and departs one day.
“Alas! Even the boy slipped from my hands! Who knows where he has gone. If he were here today, at least there would be someone to give me water. These two boys have no concern at all. Whether I live or die makes no difference to them. They need three meals a day and three lots of water to drink, and that is all—they are good for nothing else. They feel suffocated sitting here. What can I do? I will not survive this time.”
Ratan reassured him, “It is malaria. You will be well in two or four days. There is no need to worry.”
Munshiji looked at her helplessly and said, “Sit down, Bahuji. You say so, and you have given me your blessing, so perhaps I will survive. But I have no hope myself. I too am sitting here ready to challenge Yamaraj to a fight. Now I shall go and be his guest. Where can I escape now? I will give him such a chase that he will remember it.
“People say that souls live there just as they do here. There are courts there too, judges, kings, and beggars. Lectures are delivered and newspapers are published. Then what is there to worry about? I will become a court clerk there too. I will read newspapers comfortably.”
Ratan burst out laughing so uncontrollably that she could not remain standing there. Munshiji was not saying these things in jest. There was a serious line of thought on his face.
Today, after a month and a half or two months, Ratan laughed for the first time. To hide this untimely laughter, she left the room. Jalpa also came out with her.
Looking at her guiltily, Ratan said, “What must Dadaji have thought? He must have thought, ‘I am dying, and she feels like laughing.’ I will not go in there again. If he says something like that again, I will not be able to stop myself from laughing. Just look at how inappropriately I laughed today.”
She began reproaching herself for this unruly impulse.
Sensing what was in her mind, Jalpa said, “I often feel like laughing at the things he says too, sister! His fever is relatively mild at the moment. When the fever is severe, he says even more absurd things. It becomes difficult to keep from laughing.
“This morning he began saying, ‘My stomach has become bhak, my stomach has become bhak.’ He kept repeating it. Neither I nor Mother could understand what he meant, but he kept repeating, ‘My stomach has become bhak! My stomach has become bhak!’
“Come, let us go into the room.”
Ratan said, “Won’t you come with me?”
Jalpa replied, “Not today, sister.”
“Will you come tomorrow?”
“I cannot say. If Dada’s condition remains somewhat better, I will come.”
“No, sister, you must come. I want to ask your advice about something.”
“What advice?”
“Mani says there is no point in staying here anymore and that I should go home. He wants the bungalow sold.”
Jalpa suddenly stopped, caught her hand, and said, “That is terrible news, sister! Will you leave me in this condition and go away? I will not let you go! Tell Mani that he may sell the bungalow, but not until we find out something about him. I will not leave you.
“You were away for only a week, and every moment seemed like a mountain to me. I never knew I had grown so attached to you. Now I feel I might die. No, sister, I beg you, do not even speak of leaving yet.”
Ratan’s eyes also filled with tears. She said, “I could not bear to stay there either, truly. I will simply say that I do not want to go.”
Jalpa held her hand, led her upstairs to her room, put her arms around her neck, and said, “Swear that you will not leave me.”
Ratan embraced her and said, “All right, I swear I will not go. Let the whole world turn upside down if it must. What do I have waiting for me there? Why should I sell the bungalow either? The rent from the houses is two or two hundred and fifty rupees a month. That is enough for the two of us to live on. I will tell Mani today that I am not going.”
Suddenly, seeing the chess pieces and problems on the floor, she asked, “Who were you playing chess with?”
Jalpa told her everything about the plan she had conceived of throwing the dice of her fate with the chess problem. She was afraid that Ratan might consider the proposal pointless or think it foolish. But as soon as Ratan heard it, she was delighted.
She said, “Ten rupees is far too small a prize. Make it fifty rupees. I will provide the money.”
Jalpa hesitated. “But what if the lure of such a large prize brings the best chess players into the contest?”
Ratan said firmly, “There is no harm in that. If Babuji’s eyes fall upon it, he will certainly solve it, and I hope his name will be the first to appear. Even if nothing comes of it, at least we will get some clue. His address will reach the newspaper office anyway.
“You have thought of a very good plan. My heart tells me it will have a good result. I have now come to trust the promptings of the heart. When I was taking him to Calcutta, my heart was telling me that going there would not be good.”
Jalpa asked, “Then you have hope?”
“Complete hope! I will bring the money tomorrow morning.”
“Then I will write the letter today. Whom should I send it to? It should be some well-known newspaper there.”
“There was a great deal of talk about Praja-Mitra there. In the libraries, people could often be seen reading it.”
“Then I will write to Praja-Mitra. But what if they take the money and do not publish the problem?”
“What will happen? He will only take fifty rupees. By losing a small amount, at least we will learn what sort of people they are. But that cannot happen. People who go to jail for the good of the country and endure all kinds of intimidation cannot be so base.
“Come with me for half an hour and I will give you the money right now.”
Jalpa said reluctantly, “Where can I go at this moment? I will come tomorrow.”
Just then Munshiji called out, “Bahu! Bahu!”
Jalpa hurried toward his room. Ratan was leaving when she saw Jageshwari fanning herself with a hand fan. Ratan asked, “Are you feeling hot, Ammaji? I am shivering from the cold. Oh! What is this white stuff on your feet? Were you grinding flour?”
Jageshwari said shyly, “Yes. The physician has told him to eat bread made from hand-ground flour. Where can one get hand-ground flour in the market? There is no woman in the neighborhood who grinds flour anymore. Even the laboring women have their flour ground at the mill. I am willing to pay one anna per seer, but I cannot find anyone.”
Ratan said in amazement, “You can still operate the hand-mill?”
Jageshwari smiled awkwardly and said, “What is there to it? A quarter of a seer is enough for two days. He does not eat even a morsel. Bahu was going to grind it, but then I would have had to sit beside him. He would rather have me grind the mill all night than sit beside him for an hour.”
Ratan went and stood beside the hand-mill for a minute, then smiled and sat down on the wooden stool.
She said, “You cannot turn the mill anymore, Mother? Give me a little wheat. Let me see.”
Jageshwari covered her ears with her hands and said, “Oh no, Bahu, what will you grind? Come away from here.”
Ratan assured her, “I have ground flour for many years, Mother. When I was at my parents’ home, I used to grind it every day. Amma, bring me a little wheat.”
“Your hands will hurt. You will get blisters.”
“Nothing will happen, Mother. Just bring the wheat.”
Jageshwari tried to take her by the hand and pull her up, saying, “There is no wheat in the house. Who will bring it from the market at this hour?”
“All right, come with me. I will look in the storeroom. How could there be no wheat?”
The room beside the kitchen contained all the food supplies. Ratan went inside and began searching through the pots. She found wheat in one of them and was delighted.
“Look, Mother, I found some, didn’t I? You were only making excuses.”
She took a little wheat in a basket and happily went to the hand-mill and began grinding it.
Jageshwari went to Jalpa and said, “Bahu, she is sitting at the hand-mill grinding wheat. I am trying to make her get up, but she will not move. What will people say if someone sees her?”
Jalpa came out of Munshiji’s room and, enjoying her mother-in-law’s embarrassment, said, “What have you done, Ammaji! Good heavens, if someone saw her, it would be a disgrace! Come, let me have a look.”
Jageshwari said helplessly, “What can I do? I have tried everything to persuade her, but she simply will not listen.”
Jalpa went and saw that Ratan was absorbed in grinding the wheat. Her face was radiant with the natural joy of playfulness. In that short time, beads of sweat had appeared on her forehead. The hand-mill danced like a spinning top in her strong hands.
Jalpa laughed and said, “Hey, the flour had better be fine, or you will not get your money!”
Ratan did not hear her. She smiled uncertainly, as though deaf.
Jalpa called out more loudly, “Grind the flour very fine, or you will not get paid.”
Ratan laughed too and said, “As fine as you say, Bahuji, that fine I will grind it. I must get good payment for my work.”
Jalpa said, “One seer for a pice.”
Ratan replied, “One seer for a pice, agreed.”
Jalpa said, “Wash your face and you will get a seer for a pice.”
Ratan replied, “I will get up only after I have ground all this. Why are you standing here?”
Jalpa said, “Shall I come and help turn it too?”
Ratan said, “I feel like singing a grinding-song!”
Jalpa said, “How will you sing alone?” Then, turning to Jageshwari, she said, “Amma, please go sit with Dadaji for a while. I will come in a moment.”
Jalpa too sat down at the hand-mill, and together they began singing its song:
“Why did you make me a yogini and then leave, O wandering yogi?”
Both their voices were sweet. The humming and whirring of the hand-mill served as accompaniment to their voices. Whenever the two of them finished a verse and fell silent, the sound of the mill, as though tinged with the music of their voices, became even more melodious.
At that moment both their hearts were filled with the natural joy of life. There was neither the weight of grief nor the pain of separation. They were like two birds chirping in delight at the extraordinary beauty of dawn.