[adapted]

by
Rabindranath Tagore

I

After telling the story of all the bad things done by a poor woman’s cruel and bossy husband, Tara, the woman’s neighbor in the village, gave her strong opinion in just a few words: “Fire should burn such a husband’s mouth.”

Hearing this, Joygopal Babu’s wife felt very upset. She thought it was wrong for any woman to wish for any kind of fire—except maybe a cigar—in her husband’s mouth, no matter what he had done.

So, when she gently said she didn’t agree, the hard-hearted Tara shouted even louder: “It’s better to be a widow seven times than the wife of such a man!” After saying that, she ended the conversation and walked off.

Sasi thought to herself: “I can’t imagine what a husband could do to make someone hate him so much.” As she kept thinking about it, all the love in her soft heart flowed out toward her own husband, who was away from home. She threw herself with open arms onto the part of the bed where her husband usually lay, kissed the empty pillow, smelled the scent of his head still on it, and, after closing the door, took out an old, almost faded photograph and some letters he had written. She sat and stared at them. She spent the quiet afternoon alone in her room, thinking about old memories and crying softly.

Sasikala and Joygopal had been married a long time. They got married young and had children. Their many years together made their life feel simple and ordinary. Neither of them had shown big, strong feelings. They had lived together for almost sixteen years without ever being apart, when suddenly her husband had to leave on a business trip. That was when a deep love woke up inside Sasi’s heart. Being apart made their bond feel stronger, and a love she hadn’t noticed before now filled her with longing and pain.

So it happened that after so many years, at her age, and already being the mother of children, Sasi—on this spring afternoon, alone in her room, lying on the bed where she missed her husband—began to dream the sweet dreams of a young bride. The love she had never really noticed before suddenly woke up inside her with a soft, singing feeling. In her thoughts, she followed the river of dreams far away and saw golden houses and shady trees on both sides. But now, she had no place to stand among the dreams of happiness that had already faded. She began to tell herself that when she saw her husband again, life would not feel boring anymore, and springtime would not be wasted. She remembered how often she had teased her husband during silly arguments or small fights. With a truly sorry heart, she promised herself that she would never be impatient again, never say no to what her husband wanted, always follow his wishes, and accept whatever he wanted—whether it was good or bad—with a gentle heart. To her, her husband was everything, the one she loved the most, even like a god.

Sasikala was the only daughter of her parents, and they spoiled her very much. Because of this, even though Joygopal didn’t own much land himself, he didn’t worry about money. His father-in-law had enough wealth to let them live like royalty in the village.

Then, in his old age, Sasikala’s father had a baby boy. To be honest, Sasi felt hurt and upset about this unexpected and, to her, unfair action by her parents. Joygopal wasn’t very happy about it either.

The parents’ love now went fully to this new baby son. And when this tiny, sleepy little brother-in-law, with his two weak, little fists, grabbed hold of all the care and hopes that had once been given to Joygopal, Joygopal decided to take a job at a tea garden in Assam.

His friends told him to find work closer to home, but either because he felt hurt or because he believed he could rise quickly in the tea business, Joygopal didn’t listen to anyone. He sent his wife and children to stay with her parents, and he left for Assam. This was the first time the husband and wife had ever been apart in their married life.

This made Sasikala feel very angry with her baby brother. The kind of pain you can’t say out loud often feels even sharper inside. When the little boy drank milk and slept peacefully, his big sister found all kinds of reasons—like the rice being cold or the boys being late for school—to get upset with others and stay in a bad mood, day and night.

But soon after, the child’s mother died. Before she passed away, she asked her daughter to take care of her baby son.

After that, the little boy without a mother quickly won over his sister’s heart. He would shout with joy and throw himself on her, happily trying to put her mouth, nose, and eyes into his own tiny mouth. He would grab her hair with his small fists and not let go. He often woke up before sunrise, rolled over to her side, touched her softly, and made sounds like a noisy stream. Later, he began calling her jiji and jijima, and during both busy times and resting times, he would break rules, eat things he shouldn’t, and go where he wasn’t allowed—bossing her around like a little king. Sasi couldn’t hold back any longer. She gave in completely to this naughty little ruler. Since he had no mother, he had an even stronger hold on her heart.

II

The child was named Nilmani. When he was two years old, his father became very sick. A letter was sent to Joygopal asking him to come quickly. After a lot of effort, he got permission to leave and came home—just as Kaliprasanna was near death.

Before he died, Kaliprasanna gave Joygopal the job of taking care of his son and left one-fourth of his property to his daughter.

So Joygopal quit his job and came home to take care of the family land.

After a long time, husband and wife met again. When a thing made of material breaks, it can be put back together. But when two people are apart for a long time, they never come back to exactly the same place or time in their hearts; because the mind is alive, and it changes little by little every moment.

In Sasi, being together again brought out a new feeling. The dullness that had grown over their long, everyday life before was completely washed away by the love that had grown while they were apart. She now felt even closer to her husband than ever before. Hadn’t she promised herself that no matter how many days passed, or what happened, she would never let this warm love for her husband grow dim?

But Joygopal felt differently about being together again. Before, when they were always together, he had been tied to his wife through habits and little things he liked. His wife had been a real part of his daily life, and if she had been taken away, it would have torn a hole in his world. So, when he first left for his job, Joygopal struggled. But after a while, he filled that hole with new habits.

And that wasn’t all. In the past, his days had been lazy and easygoing. But for the last two years, the strong push to improve his life had taken over his thoughts completely. Compared to this strong new feeling, his old life seemed like a weak shadow. The biggest changes in a woman’s heart often come from love; in a man’s, they come from ambition.

When Joygopal returned after two years, he found that his wife was not quite the same as before. Her little brother, the baby Nilmani, had added something new to her life. This part of her life was something Joygopal didn’t understand at all—he had no connection to it. His wife tried hard to share her love for the child with him, but she didn’t really succeed. Sasi would come to him smiling, holding the child in her arms—Nilmani would hug Sasi’s neck, hide his face on her shoulder, and not even try to be friendly. Sasi wanted her little brother to show Joygopal all his sweet tricks to win his heart. But Joygopal wasn’t very interested. And how could the child show joy or excitement when he didn’t feel welcome? Joygopal couldn’t understand what was so special about this serious-looking, dark-skinned little boy with a big head. Why did Sasi love him so much?

Women quickly understand how love works. Sasi knew right away that Joygopal didn’t care for Nilmani. After that, she carefully tried to keep her brother out of her husband’s sight—to protect him from the cold, unkind look her husband gave him. So the child became something she cared for secretly, someone she loved on her own.

Joygopal got very annoyed when Nilmani cried, so Sasi would quickly hold the child to her chest and try with all her heart to calm him. And when the child’s crying woke Joygopal at night, and he groaned angrily and looked upset, Sasi felt ashamed and nervous, like she had done something wrong. Then she would take Nilmani in her arms, move away, and in a soft, loving voice, call him names like “my gold, my treasure, my jewel,” and rock him to sleep.

Children often fight over little things. Before, when that happened, Sasi would punish her own children and take her little brother’s side, because he had no mother. But now, everything changed. Now Nilmani was often blamed and punished, even when he hadn’t done anything wrong. This unfairness hurt Sasi deeply, like a knife in her heart. So she would take her punished brother into her room, and try to comfort him with sweets, toys, hugs, and kisses, doing all she could to heal his hurt feelings.

And so, the more Sasi loved Nilmani, the more Joygopal was annoyed by him. And the more Joygopal showed he didn’t care about Nilmani, the more Sasi poured out her love on the child like sweet nectar.

And when Joygopal acted unkindly toward his wife, Sasi would quietly take care of him—with gentleness, calmness, and love. But deep inside, they were both hurting each other more and more, all because of Nilmani.

This kind of quiet fight, where no one says anything out loud, is harder to deal with than an open argument.

III

Nilmani’s head was the biggest part of his body. It looked like the Creator had blown air through a thin stick and made a big bubble on top. The doctors sometimes worried that the child might be as weak and short-lived as a real bubble. For a long time, he couldn’t talk or walk. When you looked at his sad, serious face, it seemed like his parents had placed all the heavy sadness of their old age onto this little child’s head.

But with Sasi’s love and care, Nilmani got through the danger and reached the age of six.

In the month of Kartik, on bhaiphoto (ceremony) day, Sasi had dressed Nilmani up like a little gentleman, in a coat, shawl, and red-bordered dhoti. She was putting the special brother’s mark on his forehead when her outspoken neighbor, Tara, came in and—maybe for some reason, maybe for none—started a fight.

“It’s no use,” she shouted, “putting the brother’s mark on him with so much show when you’re secretly ruining him behind the scenes!”

When Sasi heard this, she was shocked—filled with surprise, anger, and sadness. Tara repeated a rumor that Sasi and her husband had planned together to sell little Nilmani’s land because of unpaid rent, and to secretly buy it in the name of her husband’s cousin. When Sasi heard this, she cursed the people who could tell such a dirty lie, saying they should get sores in their mouths. Then she went crying to her husband and told him what people were saying. Joygopal said, “No one can be trusted these days. Upen is my aunt’s son, and I thought I could trust him to look after the land. I had no idea he would let the Hasilpur property fall behind in rent and then secretly buy it himself.”

“You won’t take him to court?” asked Sasi in surprise.

“Sue my own cousin?” said Joygopal. “Besides, it would be useless. Just a waste of money.”

It was Sasi’s greatest duty to believe in her husband’s words—but she couldn’t. Now her happy home, her life full of love, started to feel hateful. The life she once thought was her safe place now seemed like a cruel trap, built on selfishness, wrapped around her and her brother from all sides. She was just a woman, alone, and she had no idea how to protect little Nilmani. The more she thought, the more scared and disgusted she felt, and the more her heart filled with love for her poor, helpless brother. She thought, if only she knew how, she would go straight to the Lat Saheb (the Viceroy, or British governor), or even write to the Maharani (a queen), to save her brother’s taluk (land). Surely the Maharani would never allow Nilmani’s taluk of Hasilpur, which brought in 758 rupees a year, to be sold off.

When Sasi was thinking about how to bring her husband’s cousin to justice—even planning to ask help from the Maharani herself—Nilmani suddenly got a high fever and had convulsions.

Joygopal called the village doctor. When Sasi asked for a better doctor, Joygopal said, “Why? Matilal isn’t bad.”

Sasi fell at his feet and begged him, swearing on her own life. Then Joygopal said, “Fine, I’ll send for the doctor from town.”

Sasi stayed with Nilmani in her lap, and he would not let her out of his sight for even one minute. He held on tightly, afraid she might leave him somehow. Even while sleeping, he kept a grip on her clothes.

The whole day passed like this. After dark, Joygopal came and said that the doctor from town was not home—he had gone far away to see another patient. Joygopal also said he had to leave that very day because of a court case, and that Matilal would continue checking on Nilmani.

That night, Nilmani talked and moved in his sleep. As soon as morning came, Sasi, without any hesitation, took a boat with her sick brother and went straight to the doctor’s house in town. The doctor was there—he had not left. He quickly found a place for her to stay and put her under the care of an elderly widow. Then he began treating the boy.

The next day, Joygopal came, burning with anger. He ordered his wife to come home with him right away.

“Even if you cut me into pieces, I won’t go back,” Sasi said. “All of you want to let Nilmani die—he has no father, no mother, no one but me—and I will save him.”

“Then you stay here and don’t come back to my house,” shouted Joygopal angrily.

Sasi finally lost her temper. “Your house? It’s my brother’s!”

“All right—we’ll see about that,” said Joygopal.

The neighbors started talking a lot about what had happened. “If you want to fight with your husband,” said Tara, “do it at home. What’s the point of leaving your house? After all, Joygopal is your husband.”

Sasi used up all the money she had with her and sold her jewelry to save her brother from death. Then she found out that the big piece of property they had in Dwarigram—the place where their family home stood, which brought in more than 1,500 rupees a year—had been changed into Joygopal’s name with help from the Jemindar (a landlord). Now, the whole property belonged to Joygopal and his side of the family, not to Nilmani.

When he got better, Nilmani would sadly say, “Let’s go home, sister.” He missed his nephews and nieces—his playmates. So again and again he said, “Let’s go home, sister, to that old house of ours.” When he said that, Sasi cried. Where was their home?

But crying would not help. Her brother had no one else in the world except her. Sasi reminded herself of this, wiped away her tears, and went into the Zenana (the women’s quarters) of the Deputy Magistrate, Tarini Babu, to ask his wife for help. The Deputy Magistrate knew Joygopal. He was very upset that a woman had left her home and was arguing with her husband about property. He was angry at Sasi for this. Still, Tarini Babu kept her calm and right away wrote a letter to Joygopal.

Joygopal then forced his wife and brother-in-law into a boat and brought them back home.