Now Devdas spent his days aimlessly wandering the streets; Dharmadas protested, but Devdas drove him away with harsh and angry words. Even ChooniLal did not dare to speak to him.

Dharmadas came to ChooniLal, “Master Choony ,what has happened to him?”

Choony put the same question to Dharmadas, “What has happened to him?”

Neither of them knew the cause of Devdas’s erratic behavior. Wiping the teawrs from his eyes, Dharmadas entreated Choonilal, “By whatever means, send him home! If he isn’t going to study, what’s the point of his staying here?”

Dharmadas was right, Choonilal thought.

A few nights later, Devdas came across Choonilal, just as Choonilal, dressed in evening clothes, was about to leave the house.

Devdas said, “Choony, are you going to that place?”

Choonilal stammered, “Well, yes, but if you don’t want me to…”

Devdas interrupted, “No, no, I don’t intend to stop you, but I have one question. What do you hope for when you go there?”

“Hope for? Nothing. It passes the time.”

“Time passes? Time drags for me. I wish time would pass for me.”

Choonilal looked intently at Devdas, trying to read his face.

“Devdas, what has happened to you?”

“Nothing’s happened.”

“So you won’t tell me?”

“No, Choony, there’s nothing for me to tell.”

Choonilal paused, as though struggling with himself. Then he blurted, “Will you do something for me?”

“What?”

“Come with me once more.”

“To that place?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you ask? I didn’t like it there.”

“I promised someone – and I’ll make sure you’ll like it.”

Devdas said, in an absent-minded way, “All right. I’ll go.”

Another scene in Chondromookhi’s house:

Choonilal was in a different chamber. Devdas sat in Chondromookhi’s room, drinking.

Chondromookhi sat nearby, watching him. Presently, she said, “Devdas, don’t drink any more tonight.”

Devdas set down his glass and frowned at her.

“Why?” he demanded.

“You’re not used to it yet. You won’t be able to bear it.”

“I drink so that I can bear it here.”

Chondromookhi had heard these words from Devdas’s lips often enough by now. Sometimes, she felt like striking her head against a wall, and striking herself dead or senseless; for she had come to love Devdas – at first a kind of pity for this strange, golden youth, then a strong attraction in spite of herself. Devdas seized the glass and flung it, so that it fell, shattering against the leg of the couch.

Lying back on the cushions, he said thickly, “I don’t have the power to rise up and leave, I’ve lost my senses, I look at you and I talk, Chondro, yet, yet I’m conscious; I can’t touch you – its disgusting.”

Weeping, Chondromookhi pleaded, “ Devdas, many people come here, and they don’t come to get drunk.”

Now Devdas stretched his eyes open wide, and tried to fix them on her. “They don’t get drunk?” he slurred “If I had my gun handy, I’d shoot those shameless bastards. They are far worse than me,