Bhramar
Chapter 1 — Bad News
Ranbir Singh and Lalit Singh were admitted to the Darjeeling High School on the same day. Ten years later they graduated together.
At that time there were very few literate people in the Nepali society so everyone lauded their achievement. Their good name spread far and wide.
The friendship which had taken root ten years ago flourished. After finishing their studies, both of them took up jobs and entered into the struggle for a livelihood in full earnest.
A few years later…
One day Lalit Singh returned home tired from work. He was relaxing in his sofa when the peon delivered a yellow envelope. As he read that telegram his mouth dried, his hands shook. Maina Devi who was making tea at his side sensed the discomfort in her husband’s countenance and asked discretely, “I hope the telegram did not bring any bad news.”
The telegram had come from Kurseong. Ranbir Singh was a high ranking official there. The wire informed that he was grievously sick.
Lalit Singh looked at the clock and said to the woman, “Hurry up, get ready. The evening train leaves in ten minutes.”
After issuing those instructions to his wife, he rebuked his son Shekhar.
Indrasekhar was reading a novel in quiet contemplation. On hearing his father’s raised voice, he put the book down and entered the room saying, “I am coming, father.”
A little while later, the three of them departed for Kurseong in the 5 pm train.
Ranbir Singh’s situation is serious. He is unconscious with high fever. His daughter is sitting beside his pillow, casting a cowardly eye on her father’s flushed face. There is the doctor, herbalist, maid and a retinue of other servants in the room. As Lalit Singh entered, Bina who had held back her tears till then began to sob uncontrollably. Lalit Singh clasped his friend’s fevered hand with his one hand and caressed Bina with the other. And looking skywards said, “Don’t cry dear, just remember the Lord.”
After about two hours, Ranbir Singh opened his eyes. His face turned pale. The fever subsided all of a sudden. His eyes were black as coals. They shone strangely. He gazed at everyone present. And finding his childhood friend, his companion of youth and lifelong benefactor by his side, felt his warm comforting presence. A hint of a smile appeared on his bloodless lips. Two teardrops rolled down his cheeks and fell on Lalit Singh's hands.
And then turning slowly to his right, he addressed his daughter in a calm and composed voice, “Bina, my child... do not cry. Did you think your parents could stay with you forever?”
His breath quickened. Beads of perspiration flecked his forehead.
After a moment's silence, he held Bina's hands in his clenched palms and said, “You were three years old when your mother left you with me... and today I am handing you over to your Kancha Ba... Lalit I am going... See... my life partner... attired in white... is beckoning me with her outstretched arms... I …”
Everything ended. The wailing of her daughter, the agony of his friend, the lamentation of relatives—nothing could keep him back.
About a month after her father's death, Bina came to Darjeeling to live for a few days with Lalit Singh. Besides an old aunt, there was no one in this world that she could call her own. Even this old woman was a distant relative.
Fate had dealt Bina a strange hand. At the time she was born her father was an ordinary office clerk, pushing a pen to earn a living. When she reached three years of age, he was promoted to the position of a petty officer in the court. The villagers proclaimed, “This child is a lucky omen.”
But four months hadn’t passed when she lost the most precious thing in this world—her mother. The same neighbors then said, “Is there anyone more unfortunate?”
That girl of three witnessed and lived through the strange doings of fate.
When the pall bearers took away her mother's corpse decked in flowers, she had asked her father, “Pa, I too want a ride in that.”
She began to mature. New things, new sights, new experiences began to take root in her tender heart. Her father doted on her with his contemplative love and care. His affection and hard work made up for the mother’s absence.
Although fate had heaped misery upon misery on Bina, it hadn't balked with its benedictions. Bina was bestowed with beauty, intelligence and charm in equal measure.
Bina’s appearance was like a freshly blossomed rose. It was serene like the deep waters. Her beauty evoked reverence, it didn't tempt. Her look bestirred feelings of purity not base instincts. It reminded one of the goddess Laxmi or Sharda.
When her father departed, Bina had just crossed the threshold of adolescence.
There was a natural vivacity in her disposition, joy in her countenance. The warm blood of new youth coursed through her every vein. The journey of life was a beautiful song for her, a well-crafted verse, an enchanting dream.
Bina’s dreams were shattered and her world darkened when her father died unexpectedly. Misfortune and misery turned Bina, just seventeen years of age, prematurely into an old woman. A seriousness borne out of anxiety left an abiding impression on her personality.
That same year she would have appeared for her matriculation exam. But her father's death upset all plans. Bina under the guardianship of Lalit Singh began to live with her aunt in a desolate corner of the town.
Bina led a peaceful, solitary existence. Most of her time was spent reading or talking about music. Having decided to take the exam the next year, she studied the whole day. Evenings she either sat in the corner playing her sitar or went to visit Lalit Singh and his household with her old aunt. Lalit Singh's wife loved her like her own daughter. Sometimes Bina stayed over for the night and returned home the next morning. Although there was a considerable difference in the ages of Maina Devi and Bina, the two were bound to each other by the golden threads of an unselfish love.
Lalit Singh breathed a deep, contented sigh of relief at the bond that had grown between his wife and the daughter of his dear departed friend.