Her sleep was lost. She wished it would come during daytime, if not at nights. She lay on the bed hour after hour, trying to get to sleep.

Why had Dibakar kept the books in his bed? To welcome sleep?

She scanned every corner of the house in search of a piece of paper. Even a torn piece would do. But she did not find any and was disappointed. At last, she stopped the man who was going to the shop and said, “Are there any wrapping papers in the shop? Newspapers or any papers with letters in print?

“Yes, yes, there are a lot.”

“Bring home a few pieces, could you?”

“What will you do with it? Tell me.”

She shouted with rage, “I shall have my saradh (post funeral rites) held with it. Now go away.”

Seeing the woman depart abruptly, he bit his tongue. He wished, May God not hear her! May God excuse the poor woman!

In the evening, he rushed to the kitchen for her. There he found her. Spotting no one around, he fished out from his pocket a folded newspaper. He whispered to her, “Take it. O my God! I have stolen it.”

She was going to unfold the paper. But he grabbed her hands at once. “Don’t open it now. Someone may notice it. Let’s go inside.”

She got up and headed towards the bedroom. Close on her heels, he, too, entered the room and shut the door behind him. She spread the paper on the bed. He noticed, her face was glowing. He became happy and entreated her, “Tell me. Won’t you?”

“What should I say?”

Why? Tell me what you are reading.”

“Hu .... ?”

“What is the story you are reading about?”

“Sit here.”

He seemed to have fallen from the sky overhead. She gesticulated to him to sit close to her. He flew to the door and whispered, “Wait a minute. Let me bolt the door. Because I have pilfered it.”

“Hu!”

“Why are you saying hu ..... hu? I am telling you, I have stolen it.”

“O, are you a thief?”

“What?”

“Yes, you are a thief.”

“O!” Like someone hail struck, he paused, gaping, his mouth wide open. Without looking at him, she asked, “Do you have a pen in your shop?”

With his head bent towards the wall, he thought something.

She said again, “If there is any, bring one for me tomorrow. A pencil would also do. But I want it. Understand? You must bring one for me.” “Should I pilfer again?”

“If you wish, pay for it. Are you not a rich man? Did you not get sufficient money by selling the paddy crops?”

“How much did I get? It is almost finished as the elder brothers partook the money. Tell me, what will you do with a pen?”

“I shall give you some names of books. You have to bring for me the books from the bookstores at the Chariali.”

“Tell me. Tell me a lot more.”

“Go away. Now I can’t prattle. First, you bring a book. Only then, I shall tell you the story.”

“Sure? Will you?”

“Get lost. Keep away at once!”

At one time he reached the bookshop at the Chariali with a list of books in hand. He got a book after paying the price. He had remembered her face, which was glowing while unfolding the paper. Her voice rang in his ears. In fact, she was not so angry. How she had asked him to sit beside her! Oh, if I could get some reading material for her!

He reached Dadhi’s shop, whistling all the way. He wrapped the book nicely at the time of pulling the shutters down. He had got some chanasur, too, for her and hurried home. Yes, today also, he found her in the kitchen itself. He called out to her, “Hey, look here. Tell me what the packet contains.”

“Books?”

“Yes.”

Today, he wished he could show some amount of boastfulness to her. With steady steps, he returned to his room. She paused for a moment. Then she lowered her veil and followed him.

He was sitting on the bed with the book on his lap. She flew to him. He spoke to her in a low tone, “Don’t snatch it. I am giving it to you. Yes, I will.” She paused and said, “Then give me.”

“First, you sit down.”

She sat on the bed. With a radiant face, he handed it to her, saying imploringly, “But you must tell me the story. Will you?”

“Yes. I will.”

Hardly had she lain on the bed after opening the packet, than she felt something fragrant touch her eyes and neck. Are those bakul flowers? Was it a shower she was yearning for? Her body fell flat on the golden lap of the Gupta era. She shut both the eyes tenderly. It was not a dream! Here was Dibakar. He said, “O God! I had brought some chanasur for you. How will you take it? Get up.”

She did not stir at all. She was gazing at the man who was gathering the chanasur strewn all over the bed. She asked him, “Will you really listen to me?”

“What?”

“The story of this book!”

“Wait. Let me first gather this mass of chanasur. Oh, it is a nut ...... it is a ......”

“Listen. I know the story of this book.”

“Oh, you are a great liar. You have not yet started the book.”

“No, no. I had read it many years back. I had kept it in my box with a mind to read it all through my life. Seeing you laughing, I’ve dumped it in the chuwapatani (a place where filth and refuse are thrown).”

“Listen! Hey you, listen to me!”

(Concluded)

Translated by: Suresh Sharma

Monikuntala Bhattacharyya