Complete English Translation: Do Kabren (Two Graves)
No longer is that radiant youth present, nor that intoxication, nor that wild rapture of passion. That enchanting assembly has long dispersed; that glowing lamp whose luminous flame gave life to the gathering has been extinguished forever. That living embodiment of love now sleeps peacefully in the cold lap of the grave.
Yet, the indelible imprint of her devotion still lingers upon his heart, and her immortal memory floats perpetually before his weeping eyes. Among the bravest heroines, such fidelity, such selfless adoration, and such unwavering devotion are exceedingly rare; and among wealthy aristocrats, such lifelong fidelity, such total surrender, and such reverent worship are rarer still.
Every single evening at the hour of twilight, without missing a solitary day, Kunwar Ranveer Singh would make a pilgrimage to Juhra’s grave, adorn the earthen mound with fresh fragrant flowers, and water the soil with his burning tears. Fifteen long years had rolled by, yet not once had he failed to keep his sacred tryst.
The worship of that divine love was the sole purpose and anchor of his remaining days—a love in which whatever he had witnessed, he had truly attained, and the mere memory of which still filled his soul with celestial intoxication. In this solemn worship, Sulochana was his constant companion—the living blessing bequeathed by Juhra, and the central focal point of all the Kunwar’s earthly hopes.
In his youth, Kunwar Ranveer Singh had married twice, but neither wife had been blessed with children. After their passing, the nobleman resolved never to marry again. Then, one evening in a musical gathering, his eyes met Juhra’s. Between that disappointed, childless aristocrat and that unfulfilled young woman, a mysterious spiritual harmony was forged, as though two companions separated by ages had unexpectedly reunited in this fleeting life.
A glorious spring of life unfolded before them—blooming with song, sweet fragrance, and boundless harmony. But alas! In the brief span of five years, that radiant spring withered into dust. That sweet, enchanting dream dissolved into a desolate, sorrow-stricken awakening.
That goddess of selfless service and sacred devotion passed away into the great beyond, placing their three-year-old infant daughter, Sulochana, into his trembling arms.
Kunwar Ranveer Singh fulfilled that dying testament of love with such intense devotion that onlookers were struck with amazement; indeed, many in polite society dismissed him as an eccentric madman. He slept only when Sulochana slept, woke when she awoke, tutored her with his own lips, and strolled beside her with the single-minded tenderness of a destitute widow rearing her only orphaned babe.
From the day Sulochana was admitted to the university, the Kunwar personally chauffeured her to the campus in his motorcar every morning and returned to fetch her every evening. He was determined to wash away the cruel social stigma that fate had stamped upon her forehead. What vast ancestral wealth could not wash clean, perhaps the pure waters of higher learning might cleanse forever.
One evening, while Kunwar Ranveer Singh was arranging fresh rose garlands upon Juhra’s grave and Sulochana was standing a short distance away throwing a tennis ball for her pet dog, she suddenly caught sight of Dr. Ramendra, the brilliant young professor from her university.
Flushing with embarrassment, she quickly averted her face, pretending not to have seen him. A sudden anxiety gripped her heart: what if Ramendra should ask questions regarding this lonely grave?
It had been a year since she entered the university. During this year, she had observed the varied guises of human romance. In some places it was playful sport, in others light amusement, in some vile slander, in others raw lust, in some wild unruliness; yet nowhere had she found that noble, tender magnanimity which forms the true soul of love.
Only in Dr. Ramendra had she encountered a gentleman whose earnest gaze caused a tremor of sensation to ripple through her heart. Yet, whenever he looked at her, what helpless longing, what quiet defeat, and what deep, unspoken ache lay concealed within his eyes!
Dr. Ramendra glanced toward the Kunwar and asked gently: "What is your elder doing beside this grave?"
Sulochana’s cheeks flushed crimson to the tips of her ears. She murmured: "It is an old habit of his."
Ramendra inquired: "Is it the shrine of some holy saint?"
Sulochana tried to brush the inquiry aside. Ramendra already knew through campus gossip that Sulochana was the daughter of the Kunwar’s kept companion; but he had no idea that this was the very woman’s grave, nor that the Kunwar was such an ardent devotee of past love.
However, Ramendra had not asked the question in a whisper. Kunwar Ranveer Singh, who was slipping on his shoes, caught the words. Hastily stepping forward, the nobleman smiled with gentle dignity:
"In the eyes of the callous world, she was no holy saint, Professor; but in my eyes, she was, and forever remains, a saint. This is the sacred shrine of my love."
Sulochana wished the ground would open beneath her feet so she might flee. But Kunwar Ranveer Singh derived a sublime, spiritual ecstasy in singing Juhra’s praises. Seeing Ramendra’s wide-eyed wonder, he continued:
"Inside this earth sleeps the divine goddess who transformed my barren life into heaven itself! This Sulochana is her sacred blessing."
Ramendra looked upon the earthen mound with deep reverence: "Indeed!"
Kunwar Ranveer Singh smiled, reliving the sweetness of that sacred memory: "That life was something entirely sublime, Professor Sahib! Such heroic penance and fidelity I have never witnessed anywhere on earth. If you have leisure, come with me to my residence; I shall share with you those cherished memories of our youth..."
Sulochana interjected anxiously: "Those are not tales to be told to outsiders, Dada!"
The Kunwar replied: "I do not consider Ramendra Babu an outsider, my child."
To Dr. Ramendra, this extraordinary, unearthly love appeared like an invaluable jewel of human psychology. He accompanied the Kunwar to his mansion and sat for hours listening to those poignant, yearning memories of a forgotten love.
And on that very night, Dr. Ramendra summoned the courage to ask for the blessing that his heart had longed for an entire year, but which social hesitation had kept locked within his breast: he asked for Sulochana’s hand in marriage.
Yet, after the wedding, Dr. Ramendra underwent a bitter, startling awakening.
Respectable high-society women ceased visiting their house altogether. At the same time, the influx of male acquaintances increased tenfold! All day long, an unending stream of gentlemen arrived. Sulochana spent her days entertaining these visitors with refreshments and polite hospitality.
For the first month or two, Ramendra paid no particular attention. But when several months went by and the ladies of high society stubbornly maintained their boycott, Ramendra remarked to his wife one evening:
"Why do these gentlemen always arrive alone nowadays?"
Sulochana answered softly: "Yes, I have noticed it too."
"Do their wives avoid you?"
"Perhaps they do."
Ramendra furrowed his brow: "Yet these gentlemen profess to be liberal, freethinking intellectuals! Their wives are educated modern women—what can be the reason for this ostracism?"
Sulochana murmured in a choked voice: "I cannot fathom it."
Ramendra reflected in painful hesitation: "What if we were to move away to some other city? No one would know our private past there."
Sulochana retorted with sudden, passionate dignity: "Why on earth should we flee to another city? Have we wronged anyone in this world? Do we go begging at their doorsteps for alms? Whoever wishes to visit is welcome; whoever wishes to stay away may stay away! Why should we hide our faces like criminals?"
Gradually, another sinister reality unfolded before Ramendra’s eyes—a reality far more repulsive and humiliating than the boycott of society matrons.
Ramendra began to perceive that these fine gentlemen who visited his parlor for hours, debating profound political theories and social reforms, did not come to exchange intellectual thoughts. They came to worship physical beauty! Their roving eyes were constantly searching for Sulochana; their ears were strained only to catch her melodious voice; the sole object of their visits was to feast their senses upon her radiant charm!
In her presence, they completely discarded that respectful reserve and decorous modesty which prevents an Indian gentleman from lifting his eyes toward the wife or daughter of an honorable family. In their arrogant minds, they apparently assumed that here, in the home of a courtesan’s daughter, no moral boundaries applied!
Whenever a visitor arrived in Ramendra’s absence, Sulochana had to endure a torturous ordeal. Through leering glances, vulgar innuendos, suggestive sighs, and double-edged compliments, these men sought to demonstrate that they, too, were beggars longing for her favors. If Ramendra holds full sixteen annas of authority over you, surely we are entitled to at least a modest share of the alms! At such moments, Sulochana was forced to swallow cups of deadly poison in silence.
Hitherto, Ramendra and Sulochana had regularly frequented the local club. It was a gathering place for the town’s liberal elite. Before suspicion had entered Ramendra’s heart, he had proudly insisted on taking her with him. The moment Sulochana stepped through the doors, a wave of electrifying energy swept through the hall. Whichever table she occupied was instantly surrounded by eager gentlemen. Whenever she was persuaded to sing, the entire assembly sat spellbound.
Yet, the number of women at the club was sparse—barely five or six high-society ladies ever attended. But these few ladies kept an icy, ostentatious distance from Sulochana. Through subtle sneers, haughty gestures, and cold glances, they made it unmistakably clear: You are welcome to amuse the men; but you can never be permitted to sit among women of honorable lineage!
When the bitter truth finally broke upon Ramendra, he stopped going to the club altogether. He curtailed his visits to friends, and began treating callers at his home with cold indifference. He yearned to shut himself away in unbroken seclusion where no intruder could disturb his peace.
He severed all contact with the outside world. Around him, he felt a suffocating web of deceit and treachery; he could trust no one, expect noble conduct from no one. Why associate with such hypocritical scoundrels who slit your throat beneath the smiling mask of friendship?
Yet Ramendra was by nature an immensely sociable man, fond of laughter and camaraderie. This self-imposed imprisonment, where there was neither amusement, nor lively conversation, nor cheerful outings, was nothing short of hard penal servitude for his spirit.
Although in word and deed he strived constantly to reassure Sulochana, her sharp, anxious intuition saw clearly that this isolated existence was becoming more intolerable for him with every passing day.
Her heart ached with crushing guilt: His life has been ruined solely because of me! I have become the poisonous thorn in his existence!
One afternoon, she said to him gently: "Why haven't you been going to the club lately? Weeks have passed since you stepped outside the gate."
Ramendra replied listlessly: "I have no desire to go anywhere. One’s own home is the best sanctuary."
"Yet your spirit must surely feel suffocated! Why undergo this harsh penance on my account? I certainly will not go. I despise those hypocritical women! There is not a single one among them whose character does not bear dark, ugly blemishes; yet they parade through the world as chaste as Sita! The very sight of their faces sickens me. But why should you deny yourself? Your mind would find diversion."
Ramendra sighed bitterly: "Diversion? A stone might find diversion, not my tormented soul! When a fire burns within the breast, where can peace be found in the outside world?"
Sulochana started as if struck by a lash. Never before had she heard such words fall from Ramendra’s lips. She had always believed that the social boycott was aimed solely at her—that the humiliation was hers alone to bear. For Ramendra, all doors were surely still wide open! He could go wherever he pleased, meet whomever he chose—what barrier stood in his path?
And yet... no! If he had married a woman of spotless pedigree, would he ever have been reduced to this misery? The wives of honorable families would have visited their home, social ties would have flourished, life would have flowed in sweet harmony—a patch of pure silk would have adorned the silk garment! Instead, a coarse rag of sacking had been stitched onto it. I came into his life and muddied the entire clear pool!
A heavy pall of melancholy descended upon her countenance.
Ramendra realized at once that his thoughtless words had carried a wounding double meaning. He hastily corrected himself:
"Do you imagine that you and I are two separate entities, Sulochana? Our lives are one! Where you are not treated with honor, how can I ever set foot? Besides, I have developed an utter revulsion for these painted jackals of polite society! I know the dirty secrets of every one of them. Neither high office, nor imperial titles, nor vast wealth can cleanse a man’s blackened soul. What these hypocrites do behind closed doors, if an ordinary poor man dared to do it, he would never have the courage to show his face in public! Yet they veil their vices beneath the cloak of modern liberalism. It is far better to keep away from such vile creatures!"
Sulochana’s wounded heart was pacified for the moment.
In the following year, a radiant baby girl bloomed like a crescent moon in Sulochana’s lap. She was named Shobha.
Kunwar Ranveer Singh’s health had been failing, and he was recuperating in the hill station of Mussoorie. The moment the joyful telegram reached him, he wired Ramendra: "Bring mother and child here immediately."
Ramendra, however, declined to travel. In his mind, an opportunity had presented itself to put the sincerity and liberalism of his high-society colleagues to a decisive, final test!
It was resolved to host a magnificent banquet in celebration of Shobha’s birth. The festivities were to include a grand musical concert; renowned vocalists were engaged from across the province. Lavish feasts of all cuisines—English, vegetarian Hindu, and Mughlai—were prepared under the supervision of master chefs.
Kunwar Ranveer Singh rushed down from Mussoorie, arriving on the very morning of the celebration.
At the appointed hour in the evening, the invited guests began to trickle in. Kunwar Ranveer Singh stood at the entrance gate to receive them in person.
Khan Sahib arrived; Mirza Sahib arrived; Mir Sahib arrived—all the Muslim gentry took their seats. But not a single Hindu colleague appeared! Panditji, Babuji, Lala Sahib, Chaudhary Sahib, Kakkar, Mehra, Chopra, Kaul, Hukku, Srivastava, Khare—not one crossed the threshold!
These very men frequented modern hotels, consumed foreign liquor, ate meat and eggs without the slightest religious scruple; yet tonight, they boycotted this gathering! Not because of orthodox dietary rules, but because their physical presence would be viewed by society as a public certificate of legitimacy granted to this marriage—a certificate they were utterly unwilling to bestow!
Until ten o'clock at night, Kunwar Ranveer Singh stood waiting patiently at the gate. When no one arrived, the nobleman walked into the parlor where Ramendra sat slumped in an armchair, stunned and humiliated.
Kunwar Ranveer Singh spoke with quiet composure: "It is futile to wait any longer, Ramendra. Let the Muslim guests dine, and distribute the remaining food among the poor."
Ramendra replied in a hollow, lifeless voice: "Yes... that is precisely what I was thinking."
The Kunwar said gently: "I anticipated this from the very beginning. This is not our dishonor, my son; it is their own hypocrisy that has been stripped bare before the world!"
Ramendra ground his teeth: "The test is complete! Say the word, and I will storm into their houses this very night and demand an answer!"
The Kunwar looked at him in surprise: "Go to their houses?"
"Yes! I will demand to know on what moral grounds they preach the hypocritical gospel of social reform!"
"It is utterly futile, Ramendra. Go and rest. The truest judge of right and wrong is a man’s own conscience. If our own heart testifies that our action is noble, then let the entire world turn its back upon us—we need not care a straw for their opinion!"
Ramendra muttered fiercely: "I will not let them off so lightly! I shall expose their double-dealing before the public!"
Saying this, he ordered the banquet trays to be carried out and distributed among the destitute beggars gathered outside.
The next morning, Ramendra had just returned from his morning walk when a troupe of courtesans arrived at the gate, singing traditional songs of congratulations (badhava) in honor of the newborn infant!
Among them was Gulnar, Juhra’s own niece. In earlier years, Gulnar had visited Sulochana regularly, though for the past two years their acquaintance had ceased. It was Gulnar who had organized this festive troupe.
A substantial crowd of curious neighbors gathered around the doorway. Hearing the commotion, Ramendra stepped forward. Gulnar advanced, offered a graceful, professional salaam, and said:
"Babuji, congratulations on your baby daughter! I have brought the badhava!"
A thunderbolt seemed to strike Dr. Ramendra! His head sank, and a dark shadow of utter mortification swept over his face. He could not utter a single syllable; he could not gesture for them to be seated; he could not even move his feet. He stood frozen like a stone statue.
To acknowledge an open kinship with a notorious courtesan of the bazaar before the eyes of the whole neighborhood was so sickening, so abjectly degrading, that all his intellectual refinement was paralyzed with shame! He could not muster even the minimal civility of ushering them into a private chamber to shield them from public view.
Today, for the first time in his life, he experienced the full horror of his degradation! He had viewed his colleagues’ boycott as their petty injustice, not his own dishonor; but this public arrival of courtesans was a humiliation too crushing for his proud spirit to bear.
It was true that Sulochana had been reared in the refined atmosphere of a noble Hindu home. It was true that she still visited Juhra’s grave; but Juhra was now an ethereal, sanctified memory, purged of the world's filth. A living kinship with Gulnar was an entirely different reality! Those who bow reverently before painted portraits of deities still condemn idolatry; the one is symbolic and spiritual, the other crude and earthly.
Standing behind the bamboo screen of her chamber, Sulochana witnessed Ramendra’s acute agony and rage.
Her heart, long bruised by the society she had fruitlessly tried to appease, now surged with bitter rebellion! Why should she grovel before people who refused to acknowledge her existence? These poor women, after all, had traveled this long distance out of genuine love, looking upon her as their own! They possessed warm human affection; they were ready to share in her joy and sorrow.
At last, Ramendra raised his head and said to Gulnar with a strained, dry smile: "Please, step inside."
As he turned to lead them toward the diwan-khana, the family maid stepped out and pressed a folded slip of paper into Gulnar’s hand. Gulnar unfolded the note, read it, and handed it silently to Ramendra, remaining rooted to the spot.
Ramendra read the paper:
"Sister Gulnar, you have come in vain. We are already disgraced enough before the world; do not drag our name further into the mud. Take your badhava and return home. If you ever wish to meet me, come alone, under the cover of night. My heart longs to embrace you and weep upon your shoulder, but I am utterly helpless."
Ramendra tore the note into shreds and shouted with reckless defiance: "Let her write whatever she pleases! I fear no one! Step inside!"
Gulnar took a step backward, bowing politely: "No, Babuji. Give us leave to depart."
"Sit for at least a minute!"
"No, Sire. Not for a single second."
After Gulnar and her troupe departed, Ramendra retreated into his bedchamber. Never in his life had he suffered such complete, crushing humiliation! That righteous anger which springs from a consciousness of innocence had vanished entirely; in its place festered burning shame and disgust.
Why had this courtesan suddenly remembered her kinship? She had never darkened their door before—why erupt upon them today like an unwanted plague? Kunwar Ranveer Singh might possess such boundless charity; he might embrace the relatives of a courtesan; but I am not built of such accommodating clay!
A venomous suspicion coiled around his brain: Could Sulochana be meeting her in secret? After all, she wrote: 'If you wish to meet me, come alone at night!' And why shouldn't she? The blood in her veins is the same! The hereditary instincts, the mentality, the moral outlook—can they be washed away so easily? It is true she was reared in the Kunwar’s palace; but the tainted legacy of blood cannot be erased in a single generation!
When these two sisters meet in secret, what do they talk about? Surely not history, philosophy, or ethics! They must indulge in the vulgar gossip of the bazaar—debating the virtues and vices of customers, laughing over the trade of the brothels! It is inconceivable that Gulnar could step into this house and shed her vulgar nature!
Yet, in the very next instant, a counter-current of empathy stirred within him: And yet, how can a human being live without companionship? Social warmth is a fundamental hunger of the soul. When starving, if a man is denied pure food, he will eat refuse to stay alive! If society had embraced Sulochana instead of ostracizing her, why would she ever yearn for the company of such outcast creatures? The fault is not hers; the blame lies entirely with the cruel circumstances that constantly resurrect our past!
While Ramendra was trapped in this agonizing labyrinth of thoughts, Kunwar Ranveer Singh entered the room and remarked with sharp reproach:
"I heard Gulnar brought the celebratory songs just now, and you sent her away."
Ramendra’s defiance flared: "I did not turn her away; Sulochana sent her away! But in my judgment, she acted with supreme wisdom!"
The Kunwar countered: "Then say that it was done at your unspoken bidding! Do you realize what a golden opportunity you have thrown away to elevate these fallen souls? Whatever uplifting impression Sulochana might have made upon them, you have erased with a single stroke! The pride of being connected to a respectable home might have inaugurated a new era of redemption in Gulnar’s life; but you paid not the slightest heed to such nobility!"
Ramendra offered no reply.
The Kunwar continued with mounting passion: "Why do you scholars forget that every human vice is born of helplessness? A thief does not steal because theft brings him pure joy; he steals because desperate necessity coerces his will! To purchase jewelry before visiting her maternal home may be an absolute necessity for one woman, and a useless luxury for another. Driven by starvation, one man sells his conscience, while another starves to death rather than beg.
"Yet you intellectuals should never forget that the instinct for self-preservation is universal in all living beings. To stay alive, man will stoop to anything! The harder survival becomes, the more vices multiply; the easier it is rendered, the fewer sins will flourish. Our supreme moral principle should be to make a life of dignity accessible to all. Ramendra Babu, today you have treated these poor women with the exact same cruelty that high society has inflicted upon you—the very cruelty over which you weep in bitter anguish!"
Ramendra listened to this philosophical lecture as though listening to the ravings of a madman. He had defended such theories in university classrooms himself; but abstract arguments cannot soothe the raw agony of an open wound! The appearance of courtesans claiming family kinship at his front door was an indignity so horrific that no philosophical logic could erase its stain.
He retorted coldly: "I have no desire to maintain relations with such creatures! I refuse to let this moral poison seep into my home!"
Suddenly, the curtain parted, and Sulochana stepped into the room. The physical exhaustion of childbirth still hung upon her, but righteous indignation had painted her cheeks with fire!
Seeing her enter, Ramendra’s fury intensified. He wished to establish once and for all that there was a boundary line across which he would never step.
He declared: "I will never tolerate a woman of the bazaar entering my house under any disguise! Whether she comes disguised, or alone under the cover of darkness, the moral contamination cannot be erased! I do not fear the punishment of society; I fear this deadly moral poison!"
Sulochana felt she had sacrificed enough of her dignity to appease his social anxieties, yet her soul had not forgiven her own cowardice.
Speaking in a ringing, passionate voice, she cried: "Do you expect me to perish in solitary confinement within these four walls? Must there not be a single soul with whom a human being can speak and laugh?"
Ramendra retorted hotly: "If you had such an overwhelming thirst for laughter and frivolous chatter, you should never have married me! The bond of marriage is, above all, a bond of supreme sacrifice! So long as traditional society endures and a wife is held as the guardian of family honor, no self-respecting husband will ever permit his spouse to consort with characters of low virtue!"
Kunwar Ranveer Singh saw that this confrontation would only drive Ramendra into obstinate entrenchment. He intervened gently: "But my son, why do you assume that a woman of high education and refinement will be corrupted by others, rather than elevating them through her own noble influence?"
Ramendra sneered: "I place no faith in modern education in this regard! Education sanctions countless vices that traditional morality condemns. If a foot slips in the mud, one does not amputate the leg. But I refuse to bow my head before degradation! I declare plainly: if you choose to live with me, you must sever all ties with your past! More than that—your inner soul must cultivate an instinctive revulsion for such people! We must purify our conduct so thoroughly that society feels ashamed of its own injustice—not behave so recklessly that their contempt appears fully justified in the eyes of the world!"
Sulochana stood tall, her eyes flashing with rebellious fire: "A woman is not an enslaved chattel bound to see through your eyes and hear through your ears! She possesses the sovereign right to determine what serves her honor and what does not!"
The Kunwar cried in alarm: "Sillo! You forget yourself! One must always use gentle words in discussion. We are not quarreling; we are merely exchanging perspectives on a difficult question."
Sulochana answered fearlessly: "No, Father! Heavy iron fetters are being forged for my limbs! I refuse to wear these chains! I consider my soul just as free and sovereign as that of any man!"
Ashamed of his harshness, Ramendra muttered: "I have never sought to rob your soul of its freedom; I am not so unprincipled. But if I see you walking toward a precipice, am I forbidden even to counsel you?"
Sulochana: "Just as I possess the right to counsel you! You cannot coerce my will."
"I do not accept that."
"If I meet a relative, your honor is stained. Do you concede that when you associate with corrupt men, my honor is stained as well?"
Ramendra: "Yes, I concede that."
"If a brother of yours turned out to be a profligate, would you drive him away from your door?"
Ramendra hesitated: "You cannot force me to do so."
"And you have the right to force me?"
"Undoubtedly!"
"Why?"
"Because I am the man! The head of this household! And because it is on your account that I have had to endure..."
Ramendra checked himself mid-sentence. But Sulochana had caught the deadly implication before the words left his mouth!
Her face turned pale, then burned with a terrible fire, as though a poisoned lance had been driven through her heart!
A wild, desperate impulse surged within her: To abandon this house this very second, sever all ties with this cruel world, and never show my face to this man again! If this is what marriage means—to live as the cringing slave of another's whims, to suffer perpetual insult and suspicion—then curses upon such a marriage!
She turned violently to flee from the room. Kunwar Ranveer Singh rushed forward, caught her trembling hands, and pleaded:
"What are you doing, my daughter? Go inside. Why do you weep? So long as I draw breath, what sorrow can touch you? Ramendra Babu meant no harm. Do not take hasty words to heart; on some other day, you too may say whatever pleases you!"
Soothing her tenderly, the Kunwar led her into the inner chamber.
In truth, Sulochana had never harbored any desire to associate with Gulnar; she had always avoided her. It was solely out of a momentary, compassionate impulse that she had scribbled that note. In her own heart, she knew that maintaining ties with the bazaar was inappropriate.
Yet what broke her spirit was Ramendra’s tyrannical prohibition! Why should he forbid her like a master commanding a slave?
Does he imagine I possess no moral judgment?
Does he harbor such vile suspicions regarding my virtue?
Solely because I am not born of high caste!
I shall go to Gulnar’s house this very hour! I will go out of sheer defiance, and see what he dares to do to me!
Pampered and cherished from infancy, Sulochana had never in her life encountered a harsh look. Kunwar Ranveer Singh had been the willing servant of her every wish; Ramendra, too, had adored her every step. Today, this sudden, brutal humiliation drove her proud spirit to trample all ties of love and family beneath her feet! She could endure poverty, illness, and hardship; but this tyrannical arrogance, this injustice, this unmerited insult she would never brook!
Leaning from the window, she called down to the coachman: "Harness the carriage! Bring it to the portico at once—I must go to the Chowk!"
Kunwar Ranveer Singh rushed to her side, pleading with tears in his eyes:
"Sillo, my darling child, what madness is this? Have pity on your old father! Do not leave the house at this moment, or you will regret it for the rest of your days! Ramendra Babu has a fiery temper, but he is older, wiser, and he loves you. Bow to his judgment!
"I swear to you on my life: when your mother was alive, there were times when in anger I commanded her to leave my house! But that saintly woman never once set foot outside my threshold! Exercise patience, my child! In a little while, Ramendra will come to you in deep remorse, begging your forgiveness."
Suddenly, Ramendra strode into the room, his face dark with fury:
"Why did you order the carriage? Where do you intend to go?"
His countenance was so dreadfully distorted by rage that Sulochana shrank back in involuntary terror. Flames seemed to dart from his bloodshot eyes, his nostrils flared, and his fists trembled.
She lost the courage to say, "I am going to Gulnar’s house." She knew that at the mere mention of Gulnar’s name, he might lunge at her throat. The instinct of self-preservation took hold.
She whispered faintly: "I am going... to visit my mother’s grave."
Ramendra barked with savage cruelty: "There is no need to go there!"
Sulochana’s voice trembled with piteous grief: "What? Is even a visit to my dead mother’s grave forbidden to me?"
Ramendra answered in the same ruthless tone: "Yes!"
Sulochana looked at him, her lips quivering: "Then look after your household yourself. I am leaving!"
Ramendra hurled the fatal, unforgivable words into her face:
"Go! What does it matter to you? If not this house, another house will easily do!"
The final thread snapped.
Had he not spoken those words, Sulochana might have gone to the Kunwar’s bungalow, sulked for a few days, and Ramendra would have arrived in tears to win her back.
But this monstrous blow severed the very roots of reconciliation and peace!
Sulochana reached the doorway and stood frozen like a painted figure upon a wall, as though the curse of an ancient sage had sucked the life-breath from her body. She sank down upon the floor. She could neither speak, nor weep, nor think. When a bolt of lightning strikes a human being, what is there left to ponder, what tears are left to shed?
Ramendra’s words were infinitely more lethal than lightning!
How long she remained slumped upon the cold floor, she never knew. When she returned to dim consciousness, an eerie, tomb-like silence enveloped the house. She glanced at the wall clock: it was one in the morning.
Across the room, Kunwar Ranveer Singh had fallen asleep in the armchair, holding the newborn infant against his chest.
Sulochana rose quietly and peered onto the veranda. Ramendra lay asleep upon his cot.
A wild, violent urge seized her: To walk up to his bed this very instant, plunge a dagger deep into my chest, and writhe in agony before his eyes until I die!
Those poisoned words echoed in her ears: "If not this house, another house will easily do!"
How could such foul, monstrous words ever pass his lips? A man so cultured, so progressive, so learned—how could his tongue utter such filth?
All her lifelong chastity, nurtured under the sacred ideals of Indian womanhood, wept bitter tears over her helpless degradation.
If this dark stigma had not been attached to my name, if I had been born of an honorable high-caste family, would such words ever have dared enter his mind? But because I am born of a courtesan, because I am tainted, despised, and vulnerable, he feels entitled to say anything to me!
Oh, what a merciless, stone heart! Could I ever, under any provocation, have dealt such a murderous blow to him?
Beneath the electric light of the veranda, Ramendra’s face showed neither sorrow nor remorse. The hard, cruel frown of anger still distorted his brow. Had Sulochana seen a single tear of repentance in those sleeping eyes, her bleeding heart might have found solace even in that midnight hour. But there, the naked sword of hostility was still unsheathed!
To her eyes, the entire universe became a vast, empty graveyard.
Sulochana returned softly to her chamber. Kunwar Ranveer Singh’s eyes were still closed. In those few hours of anguish, his noble, radiant face had withered into ashen exhaustion; the tracks of dried tears were etched deep upon his sunken cheeks.
Sulochana knelt at his feet and wept silent tears of profound adoration.
Alas, Father! For the sake of this unfortunate wretch, what agonies did you not endure? What insults did you not bear with a smile? You surrendered your entire life to me—and this is the heartbreaking end of all your devotion!
She turned to look upon her sleeping baby daughter. But even beholding that tender, rose-like countenance, no wave of maternal tenderness rose within her breast. She turned her face away in cold despair.
This child is the living embodiment of the very humiliation and agony that I was forced to endure! Why should I endanger my soul for her sake? If her cruel father loves her, let him rear her alone! And let him weep one day in bitter anguish, exactly as my father weeps tonight!
Lifting her tear-filled eyes toward heaven, she prayed in a broken whisper:
"O God! If ever You grant me rebirth upon this earth, let me be born in the home of an honorable family..."
Beside the lonely grave of Juhra, a second grave now stands.
Upon Juhra’s earthen mound, wild grass has overgrown the soil, and the plaster has peeled away in neglected patches. But the second grave is immaculate, pristine, and lovingly tended.
Around it stand ornate flowerpots, and a neat gravel walkway bordered by blossoming rosebushes leads to the tombstone.
Twilight has fallen. The pale, sorrowful rays of the setting sun weep upon the marble stone.
A man carrying a three-year-old little girl in his arms approaches the grave. Taking a white handkerchief from his pocket, he tenderly wipes away the dust from the tombstone, sweeps away the fallen petals from the gravel path, and gently sprinkles fragrant rosewater over the earth.
The little girl runs merrily along the rose bushes, laughing and chasing butterflies.
This is the grave of Sulochana. Her final testament had been: "Let not my body be burned; lay me to rest in the earth beside my mother."
Kunwar Ranveer Singh survived his daughter by barely six months before joining her in the great silence.
And Dr. Ramendra lives on, spending his days in inconsolable, lifelong repentance.
Little Shobha is now three years old; and in her innocent child's heart, she cherishes the firm belief that one day, her mother will emerge smiling from that very grave!
Summary of Do Kabren (Two Graves)
"Do Kabren" is Munshi Premchand's deeply moving and tragic critique of caste hierarchy, social hypocrisy, and hereditary stigma. The story opens with Kunwar Ranveer Singh, a wealthy aristocrat who, having had no children from two marriages, found deep love with a courtesan named Juhra. When Juhra passed away leaving behind their three-year-old daughter Sulochana, the grieving nobleman poured his entire soul into raising her, visiting Juhra's grave every evening for fifteen years. Hoping to erase the stigma of her birth, the Kunwar provides Sulochana with the finest university education.
At the university, Dr. Ramendra, a progressive and idealistic professor, falls in love with Sulochana. Deeply moved by the Kunwar's lifelong devotion to Juhra's memory, Ramendra defies orthodox social conventions and marries Sulochana. However, the reality of married life quickly turns into a nightmare of social ostracism. High-society women completely boycott Sulochana, while hypocritical male colleagues visit the house under the guise of intellectual debate, secretly regarding her with lustful disrespect due to her courtesan lineage. Disgusted by the society around him, Ramendra withdraws into bitter isolation.
When Sulochana gives birth to a daughter, Shobha, Ramendra organizes an elaborate feast to test his colleagues' liberalism. Not a single Hindu colleague attends. The following morning, Juhra's niece Gulnar, a courtesan, arrives with musicians to sing celebratory songs (badhava). Paralyzed by social shame, Ramendra is mortified. To save him embarrassment, Sulochana secretly sends a note asking Gulnar to leave.
When Ramendra discovers the note, a ferocious quarrel erupts over personal freedom and social dignity. Goaded by frustration and deep-seated prejudice, Ramendra cruelly tells Sulochana that for a woman of her background, "another man's house will easily do." These poisonous words shatter Sulochana's spirit, revealing that even her husband views her as a woman of easy virtue. That night, after weeping at her sleeping father's feet, Sulochana takes her own life, leaving a final wish to be buried in the earth beside her mother. Kunwar Ranveer Singh dies of grief six months later. The story concludes with Ramendra living in lifelong remorse, visiting the two adjacent graves every evening with their young daughter Shobha.
Publication History
"Do Kabren" (Two Graves) was published in 1930 during the mature phase of Munshi Premchand's literary career and was subsequently collected in Mansarovar, Volume 4. Written during a period of intense social debate regarding women's emancipation, courtesan rehabilitation, and caste reform in colonial India, the story provides a devastating psychological critique of how elite Indian society espoused reform in theory while brutally enforcing orthodox prejudices in practice.
This unabridged English translation was published in 2026 by MunshiPremchand.com as part of the MunshiPremchand.com English Translation Series.
Themes & Critical Significance
- The Hypocrisy of Progressive Elites: Premchand ruthlessly exposes the double standards of educated urban society. Men who champion social reform in clubs and lecture halls boycott Sulochana in private life and view her through a lens of sexual exploitation, proving that intellectual progressivism is often merely a fashionable mask for entrenched misogyny.
- The Persistence of Hereditary Stigma: The tragedy demonstrates the suffocating power of social prejudice. Despite her immaculate education, refined character, and noble upbringing, Sulochana is never allowed to escape the stigma of her mother's courtesan background.
- The Fragility of Reformist Marriages: Dr. Ramendra genuinely loves Sulochana, but when subjected to social boycott and humiliation, his liberal principles collapse. His fatal insult reveals that deep in his subconscious, he too views her through the prism of caste and courtesan stereotype.
- Dignity, Agency, and Maternal Tragedy: Sulochana refuses to live as an inferior, compromised partner. Her suicide is not an act of passive despair, but a tragic, defiant rejection of a social order that denies her equal dignity. Her final refusal to be cremated and her choice to be buried beside her mother symbolize an embrace of her maternal roots in defiance of high-caste Hindu orthodoxy.
- The Symbolism of the Two Graves: The two graves—Juhra's overgrown mound and Sulochana's pristine tomb—stand as an enduring monument to pure love, unmerited suffering, and the eternal remorse of those who failed to defend the innocent against social cruelty.