Miss Fortune

Miss Fortune

Pintu and Bhola were intimate friends. They found ample time for each other because of poor trade. They gossiped and spent hours playing cards. Their activities and attitude did not encourage customers to step in. Somehow they managed to make money for guzzling hooch and visiting the red light district once every week. Although past thirty, they remained bachelors, not mustering the strength to raise a family.

Pintu was excited to share some good news. Buttoning up his shirt, he dashed off to Bhola’s shop. “You know, Mashima came last night with a proposal. She has found a beautiful bride for me. Looks like a film heroine,” he beamed and fished out a colour photograph from his pocket, “See here...Bhola, see.” His dear friend kept his head down, pretending to be busy with collecting coins. He raised it for a moment and stole a glance at the snap kept on the biscuit jar. Pintu found Bhola’s attitude quite strange. His words were equally unexpected: “Think twice before taking up responsibilities. Business is bad, future is dim.”

Pintu dismissed his friend’s concern. Running a hand through his wavy hair, he said humorously, “I’m ready for the worst. Can’t let go of this beauty. If the future is dark, I’ll become ghar jamai and plough her father’s land.” Bhola reiterated his warning with more gravity, “Think, bhai, think, don’t be in a hurry.”

It was clear that Bhola did not want him to get married. But he could not say that directly. Pintu did not want to hurt him more. He was happy with the idea of marriage and was ready to go ahead with it, to introduce some fun in his rather tepid life. Pintu returned to his shop, promising to meet him in the evening. He did not turn up for three consecutive evenings – not even to share peanuts with sliced green chillies and black salt. Bhola realized that his cold, pessimistic remarks had offended his friend. He ended up revealing what navigated in his jealous mind. He held himself responsible for the estrangement but was not ready to take the initiative to restore camaraderie. Still he was confident that Pintu would involve him in his personal matters.

Pintu’s shop remained closed for four days. Bhola grew anxious and went to his house. He came to know from the neighbours that Pintu had gone to Lalgola to see a girl. Soon the news spread that Pintu was engaged. Confirmation came in the form of a box of sweets, delivered by Pintu. He sounded apologetic and tried to explain his predicament: “Actually Bhola, it happened all of a sudden. I wasn’t prepared for it. Relatives insisted that since I cannot keep my shop closed, it was better to formalise the alliance if I had liked the girl… Otherwise I would’ve taken you along…anyway, be ready to attend my marriage next month.”

The long-winded explanation did not have any effect on Bhola. He was anchored in his world of misconceptions, unwilling to see any merit in Pintu’s words. Pintu stomped out of Bhola’s shop when he did not consume the sweet he was offering him so fondly. “Keep it there. I’m fasting today,” Bhola said in a heavy voice resonating with umbrage. His anger did not peter out. Bhola stayed away from Pintu’s marriage on the pretext of ill health. He let the entire market know of his searing stomachache a day before the marriage so that it appears believable.

It was Pintu’s turn to be peeved this time. When he returned to his shop after a week’s celebration, he did not meet Bhola. Bhola sat in front of his shop, just to find Pintu look once in his direction and he would beam a smile at him. After all, there was no reason to promote enmity. It was Pintu who had often saved him from the union leader’s wrath whenever he could not contribute to the party fund. On the other side, Pintu had decided that he would not make further efforts to appease his estranged friend. He was slightly afraid that Bhola would tell his wife, Amla about his shady past. He was not sure how Bhola would interpret his aloofness.

Amla turned out to be prudent as well. Pintu’s financial turbulence came to her notice soon. She rallied behind him and offered him all her gold ornaments. “Sell these and invest the proceeds in business. Your success is my identity and the most precious ornament. Work harder. I’m with you.” Her words stirred him and he wished why she had not entered his life some years earlier. Impressed by her trust and readiness to lead a frugal life, he assured her that he would make every possible effort to improve their condition. He refused to sell her jewellery.

Bhola and other businessmen noticed a steady rise in Pintu’s clientele. His grocery shop remained crowded with customers for many hours. Dozens of cycle rickshaw vans transported tins of oil and sacks of rice and flour every hour. Bhola spoke to himself, “True, Pintu’s life has changed a lot after marriage. His wife is Goddess Laxmi. Responsibility makes you a good businessman.”

Bhola consulted a local matchmaker, asking him to look for a noble bride, stopping short of naming Pintu’s wife as a paragon of virtue. A suitable match was found in nearby Madanpur. Most appealing was the idea of marrying an educated woman. She had passed Madhyamik.

Bhola did not bother to invite Pintu. His own guilt, coupled with the fear of how Pintu would react, stopped him from meeting him. His marriage was a simple ceremony solemnized in a Kali temple in the presence of a few relatives. It was followed by a feast organised by siphoning off food grains and pulses from his own store. Pintu felt snubbed. He regretted having invited his friend. As he was too busy with his shop, he did not have the time to think about their friendship gone sour.

Bhola was enthusiastic about the new phase in his life. He pulled up the rolling shutter with plenty of zeal and strength. As per the astrological forecast, his wife, Moyna would be lucky for him. It was just a matter of time when he beat his old friend in business. Bhola borrowed heavily to stock all varieties and sold goods at competitive rates to wean away customers from other shops. This strategy did not usher in a revival of the anticipated magnitude. He still swatted flies and slept for many hours, aside from ogling at women passing by.

Moyna was glad to be a businessman’s wife. All these years she was just a mason’s daughter. She squandered a lot of money on cosmetics, perfumes and saris, buying costly items for her younger sister as well. She bought goods on credit, identifying herself to be Bhola’s wife. In six months her unpaid bills stood at twelve thousand rupees. Creditors put pressure on Bhola. When he lashed out at Moyna, she argued and defended her acts: “Why did you marry when you cannot fulfill your wife’s needs?” Bhola lost his temper and slapped her. Unable to bear this insult, she packed her clothes in a trunk and decided to go to her parents’ house. Neighbours sympathized with her when she raised a hue and cry and accused him of beating her regularly. Bhola was warned to mend his ways. She vowed not to return. And he was also firm in his decision not to bring her back. How could a good wife desert her husband in a crisis?

He could not think how he would clear the debts without selling his shop. The idea of seeking help from Pintu crossed his mind. But he failed to gather the courage to face him and narrate his ordeal.

Bhola had only a week’s time to clear Moyna’s debts; wholesalers had not been paid for over two months and he could not defer that any further. He remembered how creditors insulted defaulters and even put them behind bars. He wept in front of gods, praying for a solution.

The market was closed on Thursday. Pintu took his wife to receive his brother-in-law at the railway station. Trains were running late. Galloping Bhagirathi Express arrived and left behind a swirl of dust. A crowd gathered at the end of the platform. Curiosity took Pintu and Amla to the spot and they were aghast at the gory sight: split into two by the speeding train. He identified the face, though it was spattered with blood. It was clearly a case of suicide. Pintu understood why Bhola had thus ended his life. Looking at his gloomy face, Amla asked whether he knew the man. “Yes,” he replied haltingly, regaining his composure, “he was a shopkeeper friend steeped in debts.” A teardrop trickled down his cheek.

Next morning, a shop assistant, while cleaning the floor, brought to Pintu a soiled letter he had found lying behind the counter. Pintu held it close, read it, crumpled it, and cried. Only if he had got it earlier…