Posted by on Feb 20, 2014 in Short Story Translation | 0 comments

Translation of Prafulla Roy’s Bengali short story Manush
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The rain came in torrents exactly at noon near the Shermundi hills.

Bharosalal began his journey so early at dawn when the sky was still hazy and the sun was yet to rise. He had on his shoulder a pole with a many-coloured cloth bag hanging on one of its ends. He was coming from the Taluka of Thakur Raghunath Singh, a Rajput and his immediate destination was Vakilgunj town beyond the Shermundi hills.

When Bharosalal came out from Hekampur in the morning, the appearance of the sky gave no premonition that by noon such torrential rain would come breaking the firmament. The wind pushed a few innocent-looking vagabond clouds here and there in the sky. Then, as the day progressed, the sun rose up the slope of the sky like a silver plate; its silvery shine flooded the fields and embankments, the forest and the jungles. But for how long would the sun shine? In a few more hours darkness descended all around with the suddenness that resembled a whiff of air that extinguishes a lamp. As Bharosalal crossed the fields of maize, the fields of barley and sugarcane, various bushes and a few wretched-looking villages, he couldn’t fathom when those heavy chunks of rain-bearing clouds spread and covered the sky. The rumbling of the clouds alarmed him and he could see the lightning cutting across the sky.

With the cloud and lightning above his head Bharosalal quickened his steps. He must cross the Shermundi hills to reach Vakilgunj today.

As he walked Bharosalal repeatedly bent his head and looked back. Once suddenly, rain came in the distance where the sky arched its back to touch the horizon. Seeing the rain Bhoarosalal began to run but it seemed the rain obstinately chased him. In the end coming near Shermundi hills it caught up with him.

The rain came girding up its loins. A stormy wind shook hands with it. It was impossible to go up the steep mountain ahead with this rain and storm on his shoulders. Bharosalal began to look here and there. Right then he needed to stop somewhere to keep his head dry. Suddenly he could see ten or a dozen villagers standing at a little distance under a shaggy-headed Peepul tree. Even a girl was among them.

He could feel that they had stopped there because of the rain in an attempt to save as much of them from the beating in of rain as they could by thrusting their heads under the tree. Bharosalal ran and joined them.

Bharosalal was fifty-two years of age. He was solidly built, his shoulders were strong, his enormous chest was rough-hewn like an uneven stone, his hands almost reached below his knees. His skin looked like over-burnt bricks, he didn’t massage his skin with oil for ages. His rough and flaky skin shed layers throughout the year. His square face was adorned with patches of beard, his chin was flat. Whatever he was to look at, his eyes held a strange dream — they were simple and innocent.

Bharosalal wore a piece of rag that went up to his knees and he had a red shirt that looked like a waistcoat. Watched from close a big, dried lump of flesh would be found near his neck. It hung as a reminder of how a tiger once slapped him with its paw.

Bharosalal was a ‘beater’. He was what is called a jungle-caller in those regions. It was his duty to chase the tigers and bears and other wild animals by beating his tin and shouting and to bring them within the shooting range of the hunters. About three years ago while he worked as a beater for a hunter, he was attacked by a tiger in Raxaul and since then that lump of flesh was hanging from his neck. Besides working as a beater, Bharosalal did something else too. He worked for the municipalities all around the area and he caught rabid dogs, the ownerless dogs and killed them. Yes, he did that too.

No one would call him to work as a beater or a catcher of mad dogs. Bharosalal made his own enquiries and he visited the hunters’ houses and the municipality offices on his own. This was his livelihood. Perhaps it was a cruel vocation, but he had to do this to fill his stomach.

The rain became more intense. From the look of the sky it was impossible to say when it would stop. Would he remain dry standing under that shaggy-headed Peepul tree and jostling with the villagers? The water came down between the branches of the tree and the leaves and drenched his head. Perhaps if Bharosalal remained under the bare sky, the rain would have bathed him immediately. Here he was getting less wet, that was the only difference!

Bharosalal was trying to ascertain the intention of the rain as he stood unmindful. Suddenly the man beside him said, “It’s raining heavily!”
Bharosalal turned his neck. He saw a middle-aged man with a turban hiding his head and a crumpled figure. He said, “Yes–“.
The man again said, “It seems this rain won’t stop soon.” He spoke in a mixed dialect of Hindi and Bengali. Possibly, he lived somewhere near the border of Bihar and Bengal.
Bharosalal again said, “Yes…”
The middle-aged man then pointed towards his companions and said, “We needed to reach Vakilgunj town by noon. But how do we reach it now?”

Bharosalal assumed that, like him, those folks would go beyond the Shermundi hills. He watched each of the man’s companions with eyes that showed no hint of any curiosity. None of the others seemed to be middle-aged like the man near him; they were all young and strong like the buffaloes. While watching them Bharosalal’s eyes fell on the girl. In this team she was alone — the only girl.

Bharosalal had very little experience about life or people. Starting from his early youth he spent so many years chasing the ferocious animals of the jungles and the mad dogs. Even then he understood that the girl was pregnant. Perhaps she would have a child in a few days.

The man beside him was so talkative. Briefly, what he said was this — the condition of the hilly roads must have worsened because of this rain. Now to take that route would be foolish, it would be a disaster if someone slipped — he would certainly be killed.
Bharosalal turned his eyes from the girl and said, “Yes…”
The man said again, “But we will lose the job if we can’t reach Vakilgunj by noon.” He looked very worried.
“What job?”
“A dam is being built in Vakilgunj on the bank of the river. We are all going there to excavate the earth. If we fail to reach there in time, the government officer may dismiss us…”
“If you have the blessings of Ramji, you won’t be dismissed,” and saying this Bharosalal again looked at the girl. He didn’t feel curious about anything in the world. He kept so busy in the forest and the jungles and in human habitations just to fill his stomach that he didn’t even get the time to raise his eyes and to look at things. When he found some leisure he would look at the earth and its inhabitants dispassionately. Even then Bharosalal thought that there was a nine or ten-month-old baby in the stomach of that girl. Was she going to excavate the earth in this physical condition? It is not recommended for women to do some heavy work when they are pregnant. Although he worried, he didn’t say anything.

That man said from near his neck ,”Shall we have the blessings of Ramji?”
Bharosalal didn’t reply this time. He unmindfully turned his face and watched how the sky bent low with the weight of the clouds.
Even though he didn’t reply the man next to him continued to talk like the nagging rain.
Bharosalal didn’t know for how long he stood under the peepul tree. Once, all on a sudden, the rain became less intense, and along with it the storm ceased to rage. But the sky still looked grim. Any moment the rain would come again in torrents. That man again shouted from near his ear, ” The rain has stopped. This is our chance to cross the mountain.” Saying this he shouted aloud to his companions, “Guys — Let’s move and hurry up!” — he drove all of them and began to move towards the mountain.
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The group was moving ahead. Behind them was the girl. Bharosalal didn’t lose this opportunity. He began to walk behind the girl. He too wanted to cross the Shermundi hill before the rain came again.

A few days ago when Bharosalal got the news that Thakur Raghunath Singh would go on hunting, he visited the Hekampur Taluk. He roamed the jungles with Raghunath Singh for four full days beating his tin and received ten rupees and three kilograms of grain. That money was tucked in his waist and the grain stayed in his motely bag.

While at Hekampur he got the news that within a few days rabid dogs would be killed in Purnia town. That is why as soon as Raghunath Singh’s hunting trip ended, Bharosalal began his journey. Bharosalal would spend the night at the Vakilgunj town beyond the Shermundi hills. Tomorrow at dawn he would go to Sakrigali Ghat. There he would cross the river and walk to Purnia town.

But this Shermundi hill was very steep. Its slopes were covered with dense forests. Mostly the Sal and the Mahua tree could be seen although spread all around are the Amlaki, the Deodar, Kend and innumerable Seasum trees with their squinted trunks. Besides there were various types of bushes, Sabui grass and weeds.

A path wove through the jungle. But it would be too dangerous to follow it now. Although this was a hill, thousands of years of rain and storm had decayed the stone and put a layer of soil on it like the skin. The soil seemed sticky like melted flesh.

They were climbing the hill with careful steps. Although the rain was less intense, it still drizzled. Even the wind lost its strength. From the bushes on the two sides, the crickets chirped endlessly. Even the birds were chirping monotonously, their shrill or hoarse calls could be heard from the top of the trees. Somewhere even the sound of the snakes dragging their stomach on the forest floor could be heard.
Sometimes that middle-aged man would shout addressing his companions, ” Hurry up! He Ramji, it is noon!”

It appeared as if Bharosalal was listening and yet not listening to all the sounds around him; not even the shouts of the man. He was climbing the steep hill absent-mindedly. Perforce the rain came all on a sudden. Otherwise he had little need to go up in such a hurry. This was his rest day. If he could reach Vakilgunj town, he would spend the rest of the day spreading his hands and legs in rest. From tomorrow he would look for work again. But only tomorrow would he worry about that, not today.

After climbing the hill for some time Bharosalal heard a sound of someone moaning in pain. Looking ahead he could see that the pregnant girl was drawing deep breaths from the fatigue of climbing a hill. Her mouth was open and she groaned. The intensity of quick breathing violently agitated her chest. The pupils of her eyes resembled that of a dead fish, it seemed they bulged out.

The girl was almost staggering. She was trying to take her steps haphazardly on the sticky mud all around which was a cubit deep. But she was failing in her attempts to remain steady and when Bharosalal felt that the girl would fall down on to the forest floor, he came from behind and held the girl with an outstretched arm. He asked, “Why, aren’t you feeling well?”
The girl replied in a feeble voice, “No–“.
Bharosalal was going to say something but he noticed that the middle-aged man and his young companions who looked like well-built buffaloes had moved far ahead pushing the bushes. Now he got very impatient,” Oh! Your companions have gone far ahead!”
The girl said, “I haven’t come with them.”
Bharosalal was startled. “What do you mean?”
“I have come alone.”
“He Ramji, you are journeying alone in this state of health?”
“What else to do?”
“Why, where is your man?”
Meanwhile supporting her weight on Bharosalal’s enormously wide chest, the girl had somewhat retrieved her balance. Now she stood straight and said, “He couldn’t come.”
Bharosalal asked, “Why?”
“He had gone to the moneylender’s house to work without wages.”
“To work gratis?”
“Yes.” What the girl said then was briefly this: Her husband loaned some money from Bishnu Ahir, the moneylender in their remote village four years ago. They couldn’t repay the loan. There was no end to the man’s riches, his iron chest overflowed with gold and silver, gems and jewels. No one knew how much land and how many farms he had. In their village any piece of land you stepped on belonged to Bishnu Ahir. Although the man had so much land and money, he was a butcher. In order to realize the few rupees that the girl’s husband took on loan from him, Bishnu Ahir compelled him to work in his field year after year. Her husband worked without any remuneration for two months each year for the moneylender. Bishnu said that the original sum her husband had loaned got inflated as interest had to be added to it and the amount was so big that even if her husband worked for ten years, he wouldn’t be able to repay the loan. When such was the situation how could the girl’s husband come with her?

Bhorosalal listened to everything and then asked, ” There is no one else other than your husband in your family?”
“No.”
“Alas Ramji —” uttered Bharosalal and then he kept quiet for some moments. Later he said, “Can you walk now?”
The girl said,” Yes, I can.”
“Then please take your steps carefully.”

The two began to move very carefully dragging their feet over the sticky mud.
That middle-aged man had disappeared along with his companions somewhere beyond those Sal and the Seasum trees. They couldn’t be seen any more. If Bharosalal wanted he could have climbed quickly taking big steps from the steep side of the hill. But he couldn’t hurry up leaving the girl in this state.

Bhaorsalal had no interest in anything in the world except in the beasts of the jungles, the mad dogs and his own stomach. Even then walking beside the girl, he felt a little inquisitive. He asked her, “Where is your village?”
The girl replied, “It is five miles to the west, its name is Jhumritalia–“.
“You came here from the village?”
“Yes–“.
“Where will you go beyond the hills?”
“To Vakilgunj town.”
“Are you visiting a relative’s place?”
“No.”
“Then?”
The girl kept quiet for a moment, then said, “I am going to the hospital.”
“Why to the hospital?” and just as he said this Bharosalal remembered that the girl was pregnant. Perhaps she was going to the hospital for childbirth. Then immediately he said again, “Oh, I understand, let Ramji bless us–“. The girl went on walking with her face bent down.
For some moments both kept quiet.
There was no trodden path on the slope of Shermundi hill. They were finding out open spaces between the bushes and the jungle to climb up.
Once the girl croaked, “Hello….”
Bharosalal turned his face and said, “Do you want to say anything?”
“Yes, only one thing.”
“Please?”
The girl didn’t say anything right then. After a while she became desperate and said, “I am a lone woman. Even my health is very bad. I am afraid of climbing the hill in the midst of this jungle. Please don’t leave me alone.”

Bharosalal looked at her closely. She appeared weak and lifeless, her eyes sunk in their hollows and dark circles formed around them, her collarbones rose like the tip of a nail, the face looked long and bereft of flesh, her hands were thin where the veins looked prominent, the stomach was bloated as she was carrying a baby for nine or ten months, her flushed breasts bulged out of the blouse that had no buttons, marks of soot were around her nipples and seeing all these Bharosalal felt compassion. He said, “Oh no, no, I won’t leave you alone . I am also going to Vakilgunj town. You can go up to the town with me.”
The girl’s face showed that she was less worried having the assurance of a strong and able-bodied man.

The two went on and on pushing the mud. After going for quite some time, Bharosalal noticed that the girl could not take her steps properly and again she started staggering. She was breathing heavily. Again Bharosalal held her. He asked, “What happened?”
The girl said in a weak and quivering voice, “I feel giddy.”
“Is it difficult to walk?”
“Yes.”
“Please rest a little.”
There on a piece of stone sat the girl. After resting for awhile she said, “Let’s go–” But again when she began walking, she floundered.
Bharosalal was worried. ” It seems you won’t be able to walk. You are staggering and feeling giddy. Let’s do something–“.
The girl asked in a lifeless voice, “What?”
“Let me support you while you move. In this condition if you fall down while walking alone, it will be dangerous.”
The girl slowly nodded her head which suggested that if Bharosalal supported her, she wouldn’t object. Perhaps she would feel less worried.

Bharosalal held the girl. He put one arm around the girl’s shoulders and began to climb. After going for a while he felt that the girl’s strength was slowly ebbing away. As she was left with less and less energy, she supported more of her weight on Bharosalal’s hand. It seemed impossible to bear the weight of a pregnant woman on one hand in that slippery path full of mud. Bharosalal held her closer and took her almost on his chest. He wrapped her to him like that and began to climb and all along the road he kept murmuring, “Ho Ramji, ho Ramji, — it’s your blessing, your blessing.”
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The rain was not intense for quite some time. But it continued to drizzle. Suddenly the rain again came in torrents. The wind was calm too but again, like the rain, it suddenly renewed its vigour and began to run its horse in great speed through the jungle.
By this time the girl had no more strength to remain on her feet. It seemed as if the lower part of her body from the waist down was loosened and hung below. Bharosalal was bewildered. He had promised the pregnant girl that he would help her cross the Shermundi hill. But now in this condition he couldn’t find a way to save the girl and the baby in her.

A few moments passed. Bharosalal settled everything in his mind.

The girl was in such a condition that she wouldn’t be able to walk any more. Moreover there was no such big tree like that Peepul tree with a shaggy head under which they could rest for awhile. The manner in which the rain started no one could tell if it would stop, or if it stopped at all, when that would be. It seemed better to proceed rather than to wait undecidedly.

What Bharosalal did then was this: he made the girl to lie down in a relatively dry place where the mud was not too thick. Then he brought down his many-coloured cloth-bag from the end of his pole, took out two dhotis from it and quickly made a big bag using the dhotis. He made the girl sit in that bag, put the grains on her side and hung the bag on his back. The he began to climb the slope again digging his big toes very carefully in the mud. When he had taken the responsibility, he must help the girl to safely cross the hill.

A million raindrops came on him from the sky like the blades of a spear. The storm made the Arjun, Sal, Amlaki and Seasum trees to stoop this moment and in the very next they would again stand upright. An aimless and insane wind scattered and thrashed the thickets. Lightning split the sky and caused cracks on it. Bharosalal witnessed the violent appearance of the storm and went on saying, “Ho Ramji, it’s your blessing, ho Ramji, it’s your blessing,” and saying this he stuck his big toes like the nails on the thick, sticky mud and climbed up.

On his back was the full weight of a pregnant girl carrying a baby. Although Bharosalal was a very strong and able man, it seemed to him that his spine was breaking into pieces, his breath was catching. Torrential rain was spraying on his face and he could see nothing ahead. Moreover, if the stormy wind was pushing him ten cubits on one side this moment, in the very next moment it shoved him another fifteen cubits on the other. He was blinded by the force of water and wind. In the midst of such a terribly stormy weather, Bharosalal kept his body straight like a shield and went ahead keeping his direction fixed. All through he cried in a plaintive tone, “Ho Ramji, it is your blessing, your blessing.”

He didn’t know after how long the intense rain weakened when he crossed the hill and came down the other side. The storm ceased. The clouds gradually thinned on the surface of the sky. After putting the girl down from his back Bharosalal panted for a long time keeping his face between his knees. All his strength was exhausted. It felt as if there was not one bone intact in him, as if he was completely broken. The veins snapped. An unbearable pain rose from beneath the neck and spread all over his spine to his waist and ran through him while his body from the waist to his feet shivered.

After a long time when he recovered, Bharosalal remembered about the girl. He rose with a flutter and saw that the girl and her clothes were completely wet. Her skin and the tips of her fingers shrunk and paled. Bharosalal startled as he watched her face. The girl’s face shrivelled in an unbearable pain, her lips were bluish. She was trying to stifle the pain within her by clenching her teeth. Bharosalal was afraid. He came near the girl in a hurry and asked, “What happened?”
The girl let out a groan as her finger pointed to her belly. “There is too much pain in there. Please take me to the hospital quickly.”

Vakilgunj town was a clear five miles away from the foot of the hill. To go to the hospital they needed to reach the town. “Can you walk?” Bharosalal enquired.
“No, my waist and stomach are tearing at me.”

Bharosalal guessed as much. The girl couldn’t even stand up and take a step in this condition. On the other hand Bharosalal had no more energy left in him to carry the girl again on his back and to go another five miles. He was completely exhausted just in helping the girl cross the hill.
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But there was a small bazaar at the foot of the Shermundi hill. It was a bazaar only in name. There was a shop selling rice, pulses, salt and pepper, another shop offered betel leaves, bidi and tobacco leaves used as quid and the third one was a tea shop. There you had the sample of a bazaar! Close to it a mud road zigzagged by the fields of mealie, wheat and barley and extended through the haphazardly-spread villages to Vakilgunj town. Near that bazaar one could get bullock-carts for going to the town. Then Bharosalal realized that if he hired a cart, it would cost him at least five rupees. Tucked in his waist he had ten rupees given to him by Thakur Raghunath Singh. That was his last savings. Bharosalal began to think whether it would be the right decision to spend from that money. And then he heard a sound which seemed like an indistinct groan. On turning his head he saw the girl clutching at her flesh and moaning.
Bharosalal didn’t have any more time to ponder. He ran as if someone pulled him up and made him stand on his own feet. He ran and seized a bullock-cart from near the bazaar. Then she lifted the girl in his hands and made her lie down under the thatched covering of the cart. He asked the driver, “Brother, please hurry up, we’ll go to the town.”

The sky was gradually getting cleared of clouds. A weak sunshine cracked the clouds and showed its lifeless face. The sunshine suggested that the day waned and soon evening would descend.

After boarding the cart Bharosalal looked nowhere else. He was watching the girl constantly. The girl was on her side and curling up with her hands and feet close to her chest, she groaned constantly and she was trying to stifle her pain by blocking her breath and stiffening her jaw. Bharosalal bent over her and said, “Woman, is it very painful?”

The girl clenched her teeth and shook her head on both sides and didn’t say anything.
Bharosalal didn’t know what to do, nothing came to his mind as to how he could alleviate the suffering of the girl. He stifled his breath and murmured, “Ho Ramji, your blessing, ho the son of the wind, your blessing…”
The girl said, “Now I am feeling very nervous.”
Bharosalal held her hand with great compassion and said, “What is there to fear?”
Suddenly the girl’s pain increased manifold. Her body began to arch like a bow, her brow, her neck and throat all got wet in her sweat. She was having gooseflesh as if she has caught a cold. The pupils of her eyes gradually ceased to move.

Bharosalal became impatient. This girl had come 15 miles and crossed the hills to give birth to her child. Bharosalal’s inexperience about life didn’t help him in knowing how to nurse her in this condition. He said with a fearful voice, “Woman, what is to be done now to you in this condition?”
The girl clutched her waist and said, “Please apply fomentation here…”
Where would he get fire and other things in this bullock-cart? But he was bent on fomenting the girl’s waist. Bharosalal searched everywhere with a perplexed look and then saw that under the thatched shade a lantern was hanging. Immediately he asked the driver, “Brother, do you have oil in your lantern?”
The driver said, “Yes, why?”
“I’ll light the lantern for a little while. I’ll apply hot poultice to this woman.”
“You can light it but you’ll have to pay four annas for the oil.”
“I’ll pay.”
“Then it’s okay.”
“Do you have a fire?”
“Yes.” The cart-owner took out a match-box from his waist and threw it towards Bharosalal.

Bharosalal lighted the lantern. Then he folded part of his dhoti four times and put it on the top of the lantern to make it warm. When it got quite hot, he began to apply the fomentation to the girl’s waist. This went on for a long time as the girl moaned in pain and then at one time she fell asleep.

Quite a while into the evening the bullock-cart reached the government hospital at Vakilgunj town.
But the doctor could not be found so late at night. He had left the hospital for his residential quarters.
Those, who were at the hospital, told him, “Nothing can be done today. Bring her tomorrow.”

It was calamitous for Bharosalal. Where would he keep the girl now so late at night? He earnestly pleaded to everyone, “Please admit the woman tonight.”
The staff at the hospital informed him that unless they have the doctor’s order, no one could be admitted. Bharosalal collected the address of the doctor and in a desperate attempt found the doctor’s quarters. He entreated the doctor by touching his legs and told him in great detail with how much trouble he had brought the pregnant girl so far from beyond the hills and then said, “Now it depends on your kindness, doctor.”
After hearing everything the doctor admitted the girl to the hospital.
At last Bharosalal’s duty was finished. He gave five rupees to the cart-owner as rental and another four annas for the oil. Then he went out to find a shelter where he could rest at night.

Bharosalal had no one in the world. He had no attachments that could pull him back. He was a free man with no obligations. Wherever he went he would bake a few pieces of bread with his own hands. Then he would lie down in someone’s courtyard or under a tree in the fields.

Bharosalal didn’t feel like doing anything today. He would have to buy the flour, knead it, then he would build an oven, would gather pieces of wood as fuel — but he wanted to be free from so much trouble that day. Bharosalal went to a shop, ate the flower of maize with tamarind pickle and salt and green chillies and on his return he slept on the verandah of a house. Tomorrow morning he would go to Sakrigali Ghat and from there to Purnia town.

On waking the next morning while proceeding towards Sakrigali Ghat Bharosalal thought he should go to the hospital and enquire about the girl for a last time. Walking unmindfully he came to the hospital and on enquiry he came to know that the girl was yet to give birth. But it could happen any moment now. He came to know that the girl was in terrible pain.

This last news saddened Bharosalal’s heart. He was indifferent towards everything in the world. Even then knowing that the girl was in pain — the same girl whom he had brought there on his back and whom he had helped in climbing the hill, for whom he had spent five rupees from his own savings, the girl whom he nursed by applying hot poultice — he could not leave for Sakrigali. He decided that only after the childbirth would he go to Purnia town. Perhaps on reaching there he would find that the municipality staff had already appointed someone else for killing rabid dogs. But what else to do? “Ho Ramji, ho, the son of the wind…”

Coming out from the hospital Bharosalal wandered here and there for some time. Then he made bread, ate them and rested for awhile. Rising from sleep he went to the hospital again in the afternoon. There was no news yet. Bharosalal spent that night in the town and again went to the hospital the next day in the morning and again in the afternoon. Still no news of the childbirth.

After two days when he was feeling out of breath from his worries, the doctor came with a smile and said, “There’s very good news for you…”
Bharosalal asked, “Did it happen, doctor?”
“Yes, my job is done.”
“By the blessings of Ramji, by the blessings of the son of the wind, ” a strange light flashed in Bharosalal’s eyes.
“Your woman has given birth to a son. Such a fair baby—!”
Bharosalal was taken aback. It was certain that the doctor took the girl as his wife. To correct the doctor’s mistake, he said quickly, ” She is not my wife, doctor.”
“Then?” the doctor frowned at him.
Bharosalal said,” I got acquainted with her on the road while coming. Okay, good-bye, doctor, Ram, Ram.” Now, the path was clear for Bharosalal to cross Sakriigali Ghat and to reach Purnia town without worries. .

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