After leaving Calcutta, Devdas traveled to Elahabad. While there, he wrote to Chondromookhi, “Wife, I never thought that I would love again! To have loved, and come away empty-handed is pain enough, then to risk loving again is folly.”

What Chondromookhi’s answer was, I cannot say, but during this period, Devdas kept wondering, “Couldn’t I just ask her to come here?” The next moment, he would think “What if Parvati were to hear of it?” In this fashion, he wavered between Parvati and Chondromookhi. Sometimes he would imagine them both together as though they were bosom friends. Sometimes he felt that they had both turned away from him and at these times he would be filled with great dissatisfaction.

He moved from Elahabad to Lahore, where chanced upon his erstwhile friend, Choony. They renewed their aquaintanceship, and Devdas began drinking again. Guiltily, he recalled Chondromookhi’s adjurations, he considered how wise she was, how steadfast, how affectionate. He did not think of Parvati for long stretches of time, then suddenly her memory would blaze up like a flash of lightning.

In Lahore, Devdas grew ill again. Yet he continued to go out, sometimes staying out all night. Once he did not return for two days; helpless with fear and worry, the faithful Dharmadas waited, barely able to eat or drink. On the third day, Devdas returned with a raging fever. Doctors were summoned and began treatment. Dharmadas begged, “Let me send word to your mother.”

Devdas replied, “I cannot see her in this state.”

“Why hide from her, when you need her most? Devdas, let’s fo to Benaras.”

But Devdas said stubbornly, “No, Dharmadas, not now. Wait till I’m better.”

Dharmadas even considered mentioning Chondromookhi, but he held her in such deep disgust, that he could not bring himself to speak her name.

Devdas himself thought of her often, yet he did not talk of her, or send word to her. As a result, no one came to him.

Finally one day he was able to leave his bed.

He said, “Dharmadas, let’s go somewhere else.”

“Let’s just go home, or to your mother!”

Instead, they returned to Elahabad. After a few days there, Devdas said, “Dharmadas, let’s go to Bombay.”

The month was Jaistha; in Jaistha, Bombay is not too warm. Devdas felt that his health was improving. Dharmadas had said again, “Let’s go home.” But he refused. “I feel much better in this place. We’ll stay here a little longer.”

Almost a year had gone by, the month was Bhadro. Devdas, leaning on Dharmadas, walked out of the Bombay hospital, tears misting his eyes. While he lay in the hospital, he had been pondering his fate. He had everything , and he had nothing. He had a mother, a brother, Parvati, Chondromookhi; yet he was no one’s responsibility. Dharmadas wept, “Let us go to your mother now.”

Devdas was in the last stages of disease now. His liver was eaten away, he had a fever, and a cough. His