Chapter 18 / 51 · 4 min

The Sari That Hangs From the Railing

If it rains hard tonight, perhaps twenty-four hours will be added to Rasmoni’s life. Chandranath believes those twenty-four hours will change everything. He will take Rasmoni and leave for Kolkata. No one will ever find them there.

Rasmoni was Chandranath’s childhood friend. They had played together, run together, swum together. So many happy memories. How many times had he caught grasshoppers for little Rasmoni! But when Rasmoni turned eleven, she was suddenly married off. Before Chandranath could even understand what was happening.

The proposal had come from a wealthy family. They owned land by the acre. They were even said to have a brick house. But the groom was old. The day Chandranath saw the old man’s yellow, betel-stained teeth, he felt a pang of regret. That a girl as beautiful as Rasmoni should be married to such a corpse waiting for the grave.

When Rasmoni left for her husband’s house, Chandranath understood that he had loved her. When he caught a grasshopper and had no one to give it to, a strange kind of sorrow would come over him. Before she left, Rasmoni looked into his eyes and said, “I’m going, Chandra.”

Chewing on a sweet, Chandranath said, “Why’s your husband so old?”

Rasmoni tried to smile. “You take care of yourself. I’m going to Kanaighat, in Tripura. We probably won’t see each other again.”

“Father says he’s sending me to Kolkata. It’ll be good if I never see you again. You’re such a nuisance!”

“Maybe. Here, keep this clay doll. I made it.”

A very ordinary doll, crudely shaped from lumpy clay. Chandranath took it in his hand and threw it down at once. “Do I look like a girl to you? Am I going to play with dolls? Get lost!”

Tears had welled in Rasmoni’s eyes. By the time Chandranath understood the meaning of those tears, it was already too late. By then several springs had passed, by then the little silk-cotton sapling had grown many branches, by then Rasmoni had stepped into womanhood, by then Rasmoni had become a widow.

The thought that Rasmoni had a husband, another man, used to grieve Chandranath. But a far heavier, colder current ran down his spine when he heard that the other man was no more. Rasmoni would live a little longer, and then she too would have to burn alive on the pyre beside her dead husband. What an unequal, strange, merciless society.

Stepping off the train, Chandranath set off on foot toward Kanaighat. The sky was heavy with dark clouds. With all his heart Chandranath wanted rain. Hard rain, the kind that wouldn’t let a fire catch. Rasmoni would gain twenty-four hours, and those twenty-four hours would change everything for them.

When Chandranath reached Rasmoni’s house, a crowd of people had gathered there. He recognized no one. From a distance he saw Rasmoni in a white sari, and his chest ached. Reaching her was difficult, but with great effort and cunning, he managed. When he stood before her, Rasmoni stared at him blankly. “Chandra?”

“Yes.”

“Come to watch them burn the widow?”

“Rasmoni!”

“Keep your distance. The smell of burning flesh isn’t pleasant.”

“I’ve come to take you to Kolkata.” As he said it, Chandranath saw a flicker of hope cross Rasmoni’s eyes. Then he told her the whole plan. At first Rasmoni clutched at it like a drowning person grasping at straw, and then she believed it completely. If everything went right, if she only got a little more time, she would take Chandra’s hand in this rain and leave for Kolkata.

She had done no wrong. Her death was certainly an injustice. And she had a right to live.

As planned, God sent the rain. Rasmoni’s burning was pushed back twenty-four hours. Rasmoni waited at the appointed place. The one thing in the whole plan that changed was Chandranath’s mind.

At the last moment it occurred to Chandra that running away with a widow was a great sin. Even if God forgave him that sin, the opium-addled men of this village would not. Rasmoni was no longer the Rasmoni of childhood. She was a married woman, a widow, a girl already used by another man. Was it right to make such a great mistake in the grip of emotion?

While Chandranath sat by the pond skipping stones, several men were dragging Rasmoni toward the pyre. They laid her on the pyre beside a white corpse and bound her there. Rasmoni looked at the sky one last time. This world was not made for her.

While Rasmoni burned in the fire, Chandranath pretended to burn too. He was not burning.