"Why not?"
He was utterly puzzled. So close to his goal by helping her open her shell and teach her at time one has to be selfish and that its alright to have hopes and wishes. Yet his own greatest desire, that has turned into a necessity, was now, as it seemed, doomed to die a slow death. To marry Chandramukhi was not something that came out of nowhere. He had wanted it for a long time already. He knew it the moment when, after her illness and their short separation, they were reunited under Chuni Babu's roof. But she rejected him now. Something he never imagined.
As she was sitting opposite him, sobbing silently, hiding her face with her palms, he saw himself in a different room, with a different woman and saying different words, yet the situation seemed to be the same. Back then he let his rage dictate his actions. He gave that other woman a scar. Even now he felt anger creeping onto him. But no, he wouldn't let this happen. Not with Chandramukhi. She already had her scars.
He was sitting silently for a while, fighting his volatile nature. Finally he felt calm enough again. He reached out and took her hands in his one more time.
"If you don't want to marry me this instant, I can wait," he said. More of the internal battle! Patience and waiting were not among his few virtues. But she just shook her head.
"Never."
"Will you tell me why?"
His calmness was scaring her. It was too unlike him. Little did she know how far from being calm he was, but she couldn't see his tightly, almost painfully clutched fist hidden in his lap.
"I won't let you ruin yourself," she said, trying to stop the tears by taking deep breaths. It wasn't to much avail.
"What nonsense."
"I am a tawaif. A whore," she let out. "I have no reputation, no past and no future. People will give you the blind eye if you keep a mistress, but they will never forgive you should you marry a woman like me. I will not let that happen."
He wanted to laugh almost. Was that is?
"I don't care," he shrugged his shoulders. "I don't care one bit for what they think. I want you. With me."
"I will be with you as long as you want me to," she assured him. "I don't need any promises. You don't have to marry me."
"I know that, Chandramukhi. Why can't you just believe I actually want to? I want you by my side, not hidden in the shadows. You do have past. And I want you to have future. Because you deserve it."
He said more and she was listening to him, her sobs slowly dying out. She was thinking, possibly searching for a flaw in his reasoning.
"It is up to you to decide," he said, seeing she still hesitated to give him any answer. "If you don't want to marry me, don't. If you want us to remain just lovers, it will happen. If you want me to leave, I will. If you insist on me kidnapping Paro, I will do it. Whatever it is that will make you happy - I will do it."
He released her hand, somehow managed to smile and got up, intending to leave the room and give her space and time to think, without disturbing her any further with his presence. It took just two seconds after he turned his back and he wavered a bit as he felt her body crush into him. Her arms sneaked under his shoulders, her palms pressing into his chest, her
"I will be a terrible wife," she whispered weepingly still. "I will not tolerate any insolence from you anymore. I will be jealous. I will be possessive. I will scratch your eyes out if you ever look at anyone else!"
"Sounds like a perfect wife for me."
In spite of everything she had to laugh, but then grew serious again.
"If you change you mind again, I will die," she said in a small voice, that broke his heart. Turning around he tugged a bit on her hands and found her in his arms the next moment.
"Well then, you just proclaimed yourself immortal."
............
"I see my darling sister refused to even say goodbye."
"She saved your life. Doesn't that make up for it?"
"I saved hers quite a few times. So this is just repaying me the favour. But certainly wishing farewell to her brother might be considered good manners in a family."
In spite of his words Ram did not look at all desperate at Chandramukhi's absence. He and Devdas were standing in front of the house. There were only minutes before dawn. Carriage was ready and coachman dozing off slightly in such an early morning hour.
"Why did you bother?" Ram asked. "Afraid much I'm not going to send back for you? I would have taken you with me, but to be honest I don't trust you any more than I did when we arrived."
"Oh how that breaks my heart," said Devdas with a grimace. "Actually I'm just making sure you are leaving and I won't have to suffer you under this roof anymore." It was true - partly. Devdas hated to admit it, but after he overcame the first shock and wave of hate, Ram began to fascinate him. He couldn't help but noticing similarities within the brother, whom he was determined not to like, and the sister, whom he loved more than anything. There was something they shared, some strange, unusual quality within both of them, giving them their enslaving charm, he just couldn't really put his finger on it.
"What was in the letter you gave the coachman?" Ram interrupted his flow of thoughts.
"Nothing that would concern you. It is for my friend, whose carriage this is."
"You are sure you are not informing him a ruffian like me is coming to the city?"
"You won't trust me even if I say no. Why should I bother convincing you?"
With that Devdas returned to the house. Ram turned to the coachman and without much difficulty took the letter from him, tearing a string wrapped around the folded paper. Indeed, nothing that would concern him. Devdas was just asking Chuni Babu for some money from his own health, now looked after by the friend. Nothing else. "Charity for unwanted mistresses I see," Ram muttered with a wry smile. "Seems like a fair amount, she won't starve for quite a while. Good. I did way to much to keep her alive." Giving the letter back he got into the carriage in one sure step. "Go!" ordered the coachman loudly. Then he made himself comfortable and closed his eyes, determined to get some more sleep.
...............
Little did he know that sunrise, that just woke up on the horizon, found Devdas gazing adoringly at Chandramukhi, for the first time ever standing dressed only in her splendid glory and long hair, adorned with flowers, in the sunlight without shame. By afternoon he managed to borrow a bridal attire for her from the villagers. By evening, in a little temple, she became his wife. By night she was lying in his arms and wept with happiness. When she suggested she should tell him about her past, he felt how horrified she was of sharing her story, in spite of looking determined. He refused, not disturbing her with admission he already knew. "You were born for me," he said. "That is all that is important in your past." She wept again and he patiently kept wiping her tears. And she did not mind, did not protest, did not try to hide. There was no reason now. He was not a fickle lover graciously doing favours to his mistress. He was her husband. And she was his wife.
