Parineeta: The Betrothed

By Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay and Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay

Parineeta, the Betrothed (1914) is the love story of Shekharnath and Lalita, set in early twentieth-century Bengal. Lalita is a thirteen-year-old orphan who lives with the family of her uncle Gurucharan. Gurucharan, though a principled man, is forced to take a loan from his neighbour Nabin Roy due to his impoverished circumstances. The two neighbouring families share a very cordial relationship despite Roy’s money-minded ways. Shekhar, Nabin Roy’s younger son has a bantering relationship with Lalita. As time passes, Shekhar and Lalita try to understand the true nature of their feelings. Meanwhile, tensions erupt between Shekhar’s father and Lalita’s uncle on the question of repayment of the old loan. The situation is further antagonized with the arrival of Girin, an eligible bachelor who is attracted to Lalita. A distance appears to build itself between the lovers. Much later, when an eighteen-year-old Lalita visits her old place one last time for selling Gurucharan’s house to Nabin Roy’s heirs, the story takes another unexpected turn…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Niyogi
• Release date: Dec 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9789386906182

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When the Shaktishela struck him on the breast, Lakshman’s face must have looked pretty bad and forlorn. But perhaps Gurucharan’s face was looking even worse when the news arrived from within the house early in the morning itself, that his wife had just then safely borne him his fifth daughter.

Gurucharan is a bank clerk and his monthly salary is sixty rupees. Hence his thin, shrivelled frame resembles the broken, worn out horseflesh of hackney carriage, his face too wears a resigned, stoical look like them. Yet, at this dreadful good news he remained still—as if petrified—the hookah in his hand, then sat back leaning against the worn-out ancestral cushion, so shell-shocked and shattered that he couldn’t even heave a sigh.

The messenger of glad tidings was his ten-year-old daughter, Annakali.

‘Come on dad, let’s go and see her,’ she chirped.

Gurucharan looked at her face and said, ‘Bring me a glass of water, dear.’

Annakali went in to fetch the glass of water. Following her exit, Gurucharan reminded himself, first and foremost, of the varied expenses that the birth of a child with its lying-in room and all the rest entailed. Next, hordes of anxious thoughts started pouring into his head like a violent torrent of third-class compartment passengers as they lunge forward like mad, clutching their luggage and trampling underfoot everybody in the way when they find the doors open as a train pulls into a station on a busy, crowded day. He remembered that this two-storey house on Bowbazar Street had been mortgaged to meet the expenses of the marriage of his second daughter last year, and six months’ interest was due. Durga Puja was only a month away, he would have to buy and send tattwa to her family. Yesterday at the office he was unable to balance debit and credit, though he stayed back till eight in the evening and the statement of accounts must be sent to England today by twelve o’clock. Yesterday the boss issued an order which said that shabbily dressed employees would not be allowed to attend office and they would be fined. But the washerman was nowhere to be seen last week, perhaps he had disappeared with half the contents of the wardrobe of the family. Gurucharan could no longer sit leaning back; he laid himself down, lifted up the hookah and told himself, heaps of people get killed in street accidents every day in this city of Kolkata, my God, are they worse sinners than me in your eyes? Merciful God, take pity on me—make a heavy car crush me under its wheels.

Annakali arrived with a glass of water and said, ‘Get up dad, here’s the glass of water.’

Gurucharan rose, drank the water in one gulp, and said, ‘Here dear, take the glass away.’

As she left, he lay down again.

Lalita came in and said, ‘Mama, here’s your tea, now get up.’

Tea made him lift himself up again. As he peered into her face, he felt half his anguish melt away. He remarked, ‘You sat up all night without a wink of sleep, dear. Come, sit by me for a minute.’

Lalita smiled shyly and sitting down said, ‘I didn’t sit up all night, mama.’

No one else in the world could feel the deep invisible heartache preying on wizened, overburdened, prematurely aging Gurucharan’s mind as acutely as Lalita did.

Gurucharan said, ‘Never mind, come—sit by me.’

As she did so, Gurucharan affectionately placed his hand on her head and suddenly exclaimed, ‘If I could have married off this daughter of mine to a prince, then I would know I had pulled off a feat.’

Lalita was pouring tea without lifting her head. He went on, ‘You have to toil from morning till night in your poor mama’s house, don’t you, dear?’

Shaking her head, Lalita replied, ‘Why from morning till night mama? Everybody works, so do I.’

At last Gurucharan flashed a smile. Sipping his tea he queried, ‘Well Lalita, how about our lunch today?’

Lalita lifted her face and said, ‘Why mama, I’m going to cook it!’

Gurucharan exclaimed—‘You’re going to cook! Do you know how to cook, dear?’

‘Yes, I do, mama. Mamima has taught me everything.’

Gurucharan put down the cup of tea and asked rather incredulously, ‘Really?’

‘Really. Mamima shows me how to do it—many days I cook by myself,’ said Lalita, and dropped her head. Putting a hand on her head Gurucharan quietly blessed her. The news lifted his spirits and removed a serious headache.

The room he was sitting in faced the lane which went by the house. As he sat there sipping at his tea, his eyes wandered towards the window and Gurucharan called aloud, ‘Hello! Is it you Shekhar out there? Come in, please, come in.’

A strapping, handsome young man stepped into the room. Gurucharan said, ‘Sit down. I dare say, you must have heard about your aunt’s mishap this morning.’

Shekhar replied with a gentle smile, ‘What mishap? It’s just that a daughter has been born?’

Gurucharan said with a sigh, ‘Well—it’s natural for you to say that’s all, but it’s only me who knows what that really means.’

Shekhar protested, ‘You must not speak like that, uncle; aunty will be very hurt if she hears of it. Besides, we should gladly and joyfully receive the one whom God has sent to us.’

After a moment’s pause Gurucharan resumed, ‘I too, jolly well know that we should rejoice and adore her, but God isn’t fair, either; he doesn’t judge well, my boy. I am a poor man, why on earth should there be so many in my family? Even this house has had to be mortgaged to your father. Well, let it stay that way, I don’t regret that, Shekhar. But, do look at the proof, it’s right under your eyes. Here is Lalita—an orphan, a girl worth her weight in gold, she deserves to be married to a prince, no less. Tell me, how can I marry her off to any Jadu, Madhu or Hari and have no compunction about it? This daughter of mine is worth infinitely more than her weight in jewels, more than the Kohinoor kind, which shines in a king’s crown. But nobody can appreciate that! I’m afraid I will have to give away such a gem because I have no money. Can you imagine the dreadful pain that life will then hold in store for me? She is thirteen now but I don’t have even thirteen paisa to arrange a