The two brothers, Devdas and Dwijdas, and several villagers returned together to the Mookherjee manor. After the funeral. Dwijdas wept loudly and carried on as though he had been driven out of his senses with grief. His companions could hardly restrain him.

All this while, Devdas stood calmly leaning against on of the marble columns. No sound issued from his mouth, not a tear fell from his eyes. No one touched him, no one offered him comfort. At one point, Modhusudon Ghoshe approached him, saying, “Dear boy, if it was to be …”

He never finished what he came to say. Devdas gestured in Dwijdas’s direction, “Over there,” he said.

Taken aback, Modhusudon Ghoshe exclaimed, “Yes, he is very much affected.” And moved away. Nobody else drew near him.

It was past two in the afternoon , when Devdas took himself off to his mother’s chambers, where she sat, half swooning, among several women. Parvati’s grandmother was there too. Perceiving Devdas, she cried out in her cracked voice, “My dear, look, your son Devdas is here.” Devdas said softly, “Mother!”

The widow looked up briefly and said, “Child!”, then she closed her eyes but tears still flowed. At this , several of the women present also began to weep. Devdas sat with his mother for a while, then he rose and slowly made his way to his father’s bedroom. Still dry-eyed, calm and solemn, he entered and sat down on the floor. If some stranger beheld him now, surely they would have been frightened. His eyes were reddened from drink and sleeplessness, veins stood out like ropes on his forehead, his hair unkempt and rough, hooded his face. The warm gold of his skin had dulled and darkened in an unhealthy way. His mode of life in Calcutta, his sudden journey home, the sleepless vigil at his father’s sickbed, his father’s death, all had taken such a toll on his appearance that people who knew him of old could barely recognize him.

The door opened slightly, then Parvati’s mother stepped inside.

“Devdas!”

“Why, aunt!”

“It won’t do to go on like this, my dear!”

Devdas gazed tranquilly at her.

“What have I done, aunt?”

She did not answer; instead she drew Devdas to her in an embrace.

She said, “Your father , …, your father..”

“What is it, aunt?”

“He is with the gods, my dear.”

Resting his head on her shoulder, Devdas allowed himself to weep.

Even in the most grif-stricken families, the daily chores will not wait. Eventually the weeping died down, Dwijdas showed signs of normalcy, his mother sat up, wiped her eyes and continued with the housework.

After a few days, Dwijdas inquired of Devdas, “How much do you think we should spend on the funeral ceremonies?”

Looking at his brother, Devdas replied, “As you think fit.”

“No, brother, it cannot be my decision only. You are of age now, I must consider you too.”

Devdas asked, “How much ready cash do we have?”

“Father had almost 2 lakhs in the bank. I think ten thousand will be sufficient for the ceremonies.”

“How much will I get?”

After a little hesitation, Dwijdas said, “You will get half. If we spend ten thousand, then you will get seventy thousand, and so shall I.”

“What will Mother get?”

“What is Mother going to do with cash? She will live here, and we will provide for her.”

After some thought, Devdas said, “As I see it, you should give five thousand from your share towards the ceremonies and I will give twenty five thousand from my share. Of what I have left, I shall take twenty five thousand. The remaining twenty five thousand I shall place in an account under Mother’s name. What do you think?”

At first Dwijdas was ashamed of his own close-fistedness. Then he said, “Very well. Only, you know, I have a son, a daughter, a wife – I have many expenses. Your idea is good. I will have it written out and notarized.”

“Is all that necessary? Will it look well? There is no need to proclaim our financial arrangements to the world, surely?”

“True, true, but I don’t know if …”

“O.K., allright. I’ll write it out.”

That very day, Devdas prepared a document, duly legalized, that set out clearly how the money was to be divided.

The next afternoon, as Devdas was coming downstairs, he saw a familiar figure standing at the foot of the staircase. He halted abruptly. Parvati, for it was she, was staring up at him, as though she had some difficulty in recognizing him. Devdas recovered himself and came down. He managed to greet her tranquilly enough, “When did you come, Parvati?”

That voice! Three years had passed since she had last seen him. She replied, “This morning.”

“ Its been a long time since we met. Are you well?”

Parvati nodded.

“And your husband? The children? All well ?”

“They’re all fine.”

Parvati continued to look at him, but she could not bring herself to ask the same questions, “Are you well? What are you doing?”

Devdas asked, “Will you be here for a few days?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all right, then!” with that, Devdas went away.

After the funeral services, Parvati secured Dharmadas, and talked to him privately.

First she gave him a set of gold bangles. “Dharma, for you daughter to wear…”

Dharma gazed at her, then lowered his eyes.

“How long its been since I’ve seen you! Are you well? Your family?”

“They’re fine. And your children?”

“They’re doing well, Paru!”

“And you?”

Now Dharmadas sighed heavily. “Am I well? The master’s gone – I wish I could go too!”

Dharmadas would have continued in this way, but Parvati did not have much time.

She said, “How can you talk like that, Dharma? If you go, who will look after Devdas?”

Dharmadas struck his forehead violently with the palm of his hand.

“I watched over him as a child. Now I wish I did not